


Boys, It's All or None

by TamerLorika



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dragons, Growing Up Together, M/M, Medieval AU, Multi, PolyFrogs, Polyamory, but like without any regard to syntax or speaking style whoops, fairytale AU, i love my emotionally ridiculous but very loving sons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 03:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamerLorika/pseuds/TamerLorika
Summary: Prince Derek needs friends--and Page Chris and Stableboy Will, after a rocky start, are the best ones that he could have found.Throughout the years, Chris and Will winter at the castle and slowly their relationship changes. However, rumblings of dark magic, rampant dragons, and the disappearance of one of their own might stop the fairy tale before it can even begin.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the TRULY AMAZING AND SQUEAL-INDUCING ART from MsZeldaFire, who is truly a talented and kind human and to whom I should totally pledge my firstborn--! Art spoilers for Ch.4. 
> 
> https://mszeldafire.tumblr.com/post/167644450269/heres-my-omgcpbackupbang-art-for-the-fabulous
> 
> Title somewhat esoterically from the song "This Is My Idea" from the Swan Princess. (If you're imagining it while you get through the first couple chapters, you're on the right track. It doesn't hurt that there is a Prince Derek, too....)

Derek hadn’t thought much about what he would do once he escaped. If he was being honest with himself, he hadn’t quite thought his plan would _work_. But here he was, completely alone outside the castle walls, tromping through the snow, dizzy with freedom and completely lost.

He decided to go down to the stables. After all, the thing he was told the most was that he could _not_ go riding. There was always a new excuse—it was raining, it was cold, there was no one to go with him, he had _duties_ —but it all boiled down to the same problem: his Minders told him no, and as of right now, he had no Minders. Clearly, it would be a waste of his new freedom to ignore this opportunity.

The only problem—and it wasn’t a _problem_ , per-se, because that would mean that maybe this plan was ill-conceived and as far as Derek was concerned, it was the _best_ idea he had ever had—was that he didn’t have his riding boots or his riding gloves. Usually Dame Marian remembered those, but she was also a _Minder_ and the whole point of this exercise was so that Derek could show Mama and Father that he was plenty old enough and did not need Minders anymore. The other boys at the castle who were his age were all allowed out without supervision, after all! Eleven was a fine age for independence.

Thus mentally fortified, Derek whipped his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and stomped determinedly down the path to the stables. They sat, squat and steaming, right outside the castle gates, and Amelia would be in her stall in the warmest part, just waiting for him to get out there and take her for a trot around the grounds—

Only, the beautiful auburn roan wasn’t there, because she was out in the yard, being ridden around in circles by _someone else_.

Derek felt the shock as sharply as if he had run into a table or cracked his head on a sharp corner—it stung and it _hurt_. Who dared to ride Amelia without him? Is this what happened to her when he wasn’t around? The boy on her back looked to be about Derek’s age, ruddy-faced and fire-haired, and he wore such a mulish expression as he rode that Derek was even more deeply offended. How could someone be upset when riding Amelia, the sweetest and most even-gaited horse in the whole world?

Maybe he just didn’t _know_ how lucky he was. Derek strode over to give the boy a piece of his mind.

“Hey, you!” he yelled, dashing to the fence surrounding the exercise yard and scrambling up the rungs to lean over the top. “What do you think you’re doing?” That was a phrase Eldridge used all the time, usually while Nurse was turning the margins of his schoolbooks into places to sketch and compose his own poetry instead of reading the perfectly stupid, boring poems that Eldridge insisted were classics. The words, coupled with Eldridge’s incredibly sharp eyebrows, were usually enough to strike at least a temporary fear into Derek’s heart.

They seemed, however, to have no such effect on the boy, who—rather than looking scared or contrite—just frowned at Derek and wheeled Amelie to trot up to him.

“I’m exercising the horses, obviously,” the boy shouted back. He sounded confused.

This wasn’t going according to plan. “Well, you shouldn’t be riding that one! ... Obviously,” he added. “She isn’t yours!”

The boy’s frown grew deeper, his eyebrows crumpling in and his eyes sparking. Now he seemed mad. “Well, that’s great and all, but whoever she belongs to doesn’t ever come ride her or feed her or do _anything_ with her, not even hunt with her like the lords do, so I have to do it! So clearly I _can_ ride her, because no one else will!”

The boy had trotted within spitting distance now, and if Derek hadn’t been warned about a thousand times by Master Mayhew, the stablemaster, that spitting was completely unbefitting of his station, he might have tried it.

“Well maybe her owner isn’t _allowed_ to ride her. Maybe no one lets him!”

The boy had the nerve to scoff. “She belongs to a lord, I know that much. And no one can tell a lord what to do.”

“That’s not true!” Derek was right on top of the fence now, ready to climb down into the exercise ring and probably pull the boy down, too, because he really wanted to fight him. “Everyone tells the prince what to do, and it’s not fair!”

To Derek’s surprise, however, the boy climbed down himself, leaving Amelia to watch the unfolding drama while he stalked the last few feet to Derek. “Well, I don’t care if the owner _is_ the prince, anyone who would neglect such a beautiful animal is just a—is just a—“ the boy looked around, ears bright red, lips curled up in a snarl, searching for words that would express just how angry he was, “Is just a _horse’s ass_ himself!”

Derek had never been called a horse’s ass before. He’d never been called _anything_ bad, except for maybe a brat. He decided that he hated it. He also hated the boy who stole his horse. He was ready to call up even _worse_ words to hurl back—

\--when the sound of excited shouting came to their ears from way closer to them than Derek had been prepared for.

“WILL!”

Derek and the other boy—presumably Will—turned in unison to find someone vaulting over the fence and streaking towards him, his lanky frame all elbows and knees and his smile all teeth. He threw himself at Will in what looked a lot like a flying tackle but, Derek saw after a moment, was probably meant to be a hug. It looked violent. Nevertheless, Will easily caught the newcomer, barely stumbling. Derek was suddenly glad he hadn’t challenged Will to a duel for honor or anything yet; he might actually be pretty strong.

“Will, we just got in! We didn’t even beat the snow, we were out on the road the   _whoooole_ time, but now that we are all settled and I heard one of the hostlers say the pond had definitely frozen over and this has to mean that we can go play on it, right? You can go ask Master Mayhew, right?”

The new boy said all of this without taking a breath, only breaking off the embrace to grab Will by the shoulders and shake him gently.

To Derek’s surprise, Will didn’t even look annoyed by this. He was _grinning_.

“Mayhew said I could have the afternoon off,” he said conspiratorially. “Just as soon as I finish exercising the horses.” Then he turned to Derek, who had been temporarily forgotten. “Which I was doing before I got interrupted!”

Derek wasn’t sure if he was glad that the attention was back on him or not. He opened his mouth to properly continue their argument, but the new boy wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Wow, hi, sorry! I was just really excited to see Will; I’m not from Samewell—I just came in for the winter. Are you part of the Winter Camp too? That’s what I call us—all the lords and ladies from the countryside who want to winter at the palace. After all, it’s kind of like we’re our own group, too, right? And winter is the only time I get to see Will and my other friends, so sometimes I get a little _overexcited_ , at least that what Mama says—Sorry! I’m doing it again! Anyway, my name is Chris and are you going skating with us now?”

“No,” said Will flatly.

“What?” asked Derek. He was only a little overwhelmed. He liked the new boy’s voice and the way his face lit up and his eyebrows wiggled when he talked, but he didn’t understand half of the words that had spilled out of his mouth.

“ _Ice skating_ ,” Chris replied, louder and more slowly, his grin inching wider. “I just told you! The pond is frozen and I brought my skates and Will is off in a second—sorry! I totally interrupted you finishing your work!” he said, wheeling on Will again.

Will frowned and shook his head. “You definitely didn’t. _He_ did.” Will jerked a thumb at Derek, who could only think of sticking his tongue out in reply, so he did.

“Well, whoever started it, can you please go finish?” Chris asked, a bit of a whine creeping into his voice. “Please?” It wasn’t even an annoying wheedle, not with the big dark eyes under thick lashes. Will must have thought so, too, because his ruddy cheeks flushed darker and he rolled his eyes before stalking back to the horse.

“By your _leave_ , your majesty?” Will said sarcastically. For a bad second, Derek’s heart almost stopped, because how had Will _known_ that he was the prince—

\--but actually Will was just being a jerk, Derek realized, as he swung back up onto Amelia without actually waiting for an answer. Derek sagged, relieved. He wasn’t an idiot—as soon as either of these boys figured out who he was, he was going to get turned in, or worse, they’d rescind their offer to ice skate. He knew how the local pages and squires who lived at the castle treated him; they didn’t want to be his friends, they either wanted to use him to curry favor, or they wanted Derek to leave them the heck alone.

Chris elbowed him as Derek stared off after Will, who was leaning over Amelia’s neck and murmuring softly to her. “Don’t be scared of Will, he’s just a little nervous sometimes around people and he covers it up by being really grouchy. But you’re his friend, so I suppose you know that already.”

Derek shook his head. “Um…no, we just…uh, met.”

Chris brightened. “Oh, right! You’re Winter Camp too! This must be your first year—it’s okay, I know _everything_ about the castle. I’ll show you around! Um—sorry, I got excited again, does this mean you can skate with us?”

Derek thought longingly of the skates that were in his rooms. They were real steel strapped onto black leather boots, and he had been so excited to try them out this winter, but there was no way he could sneak back into his chambers without being caught. But he _really wanted_ to skate with Chris, and…well, he’d put up with Will if he had to.

“I don’t have skates,” he said, shrugging off the disappointment with dogged determination. Maybe this way they’d play something else with him.

“That’s okay! I can steal my older brother’s—if you stuff straw in the toes, you can definitely fit them! Um, sorry, I probably don’t have anything smaller,” Chris added.

“No, that’s _perfect_ ,” Derek said, because honestly what was a little discomfort if he could keep this going? Plus, the Minders wouldn’t think to look for him down at the Pond for _ages_.

Chris grinned sunnily and grabbed his wrist, dragging him along, and Derek once again congratulated himself for his brilliant subterfuge today.

 

* * *

 

Derek had never been to the pond when it was this crowded. Every time he had gone before, it had been completely clear, except for the Minders and maybe one of the pages or another. Derek had been aware that the castle got more full over the winter, when many of the closer landholders chose to spend the winter at the palace rather that hole up in their own castles. Mama and Father took him to balls and dinners and introduced him to a lot of people during the winter months, which was good because they couldn’t travel and leave him alone, like they usually did once the weather let up in the spring. After all, their kingdom was _huge_ they said, and they had to pay attention to all the landholders, even the ones really far away, and if Derek was good and studied hard and learned his lessons well, when he reached the age that most boys could be Pages, they’d let him come along on some of what they called _diplomacy trips_.

What Derek _hadn’t_ realized was that there were so many kids that came along to Winter Camp! There was all sorts of shouting and rowdiness across the frozen pond at the foot of the sloping hill below the palace walls. Kids of all ages and sizes zipped over the ice, calling out to each other and pushing and shoving. Derek tried to get his brain around it. He should have been prepared; after all, most of the lords had hostlers and stableboys and servants and more. They probably even all had kids! But it hadn’t occurred to Derek until right now because he had never _met_ any of them. That troubled him, just a little. Why hadn’t he thought of that first? And why hadn’t Mama and Father, or any of the Minders, introduced him to any of them?

Derek felt suddenly very shy, and very worried. Chris and Will clearly hadn’t recognized him—and how could they? Derek definitely hadn’t met either of them before, and even though his full name was Prince Malik Derek Nurse, his Mama had always called him Derek, and so that was the name he gave. Malik was his mother’s father’s name, the one passed down through the line of kings, so Derek supposed he should be more proud to carry it, but _this_ was the name Mama had picked out especially for him.

Nevertheless, _someone_ out on the ice was going to recognize the crown prince. If not right away, then eventually, and Derek knew at that moment that his adventure would be _over_.

He hesitated at the edge of the pond, then caught Chris’ inquisitive stare. Derek tensed, waiting to defend himself.

“You look nervous, do you—ohmygod! Do you not know how to skate?” Chris demanded.

Derek blinked. Of all the questions he had been expecting, that hadn’t been one of them. His face heated up as Will looked back to regard him with a funny expression.

“No, I can skate,” he protested, shoving his feet into the borrowed boots, which fit a lot better than he had thought they might, and lacing them. “I can skate just fine!”

The look Will was giving him over Chris’ shoulder was pointed, but Derek couldn’t quite read it. He was pretty sure he didn’t _like_ it, though, and in response stood up to glide out onto the ice—but his foot caught on the sand at the edge of the beach and before he knew it, he was skidding, face first, onto the pond.

“Oh no!” Chris yelled, at Derek’s side in an instant.

Derek groaned, looking up to find Will raising an eyebrow and snorting. Derek was ready to say something snarky and cutting—although what, he wasn’t sure—but Will had already looked away and was glaring out over the ice.

Derek was sure all the other kids were staring at him. That thought was confirmed when the sounds of bone scraping over ice got louder and three separate pairs of legs slid to a stop in front of him. Derek wondered if he could get away with just staying flat on the ground. It was nice down here. He didn’t have to deal with whatever was happening above him.

Chris, however, was already hauling him, enthusiastically but not quite gently, to his feet.

“I have never seen someone fall so hard in my life. What, did you face crack the pond?”

Instead of the expected Will hurling insults, it was one of the new arrivals. Derek felt a momentary sense of relief that these three were also clearly Winter Campers, some kind of lord’s children but none that he’d ever met. The reprieve of anonymity, however, faded quickly with the boil of insult.

Once more, Derek’s well-meant retort was cut off. “Gee, Chad, you’ve never seen someone fall so hard? I can tell you, I have. The last time you tried to ride Polly, she bucked you halfway into next week,” Will sneered.

“Stand down, Poindexter,” Chad, the boy in the middle of the goading pack, huffed, turning on him. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on _my_ horses?”

Spots of color bloomed high on Will’s cheeks, rapidly racing down his face and neck.

“Just because he works for your family doesn’t mean you are the boss of him!” Chris chimed in, frowning mightily. “While he’s here he works for Master Mayhew, not you.”

Chad’s grin just got nastier. “Stable boys are _always_ in service to their betters.”

Derek saw the expression on Will’s face, and he was floored for just a moment. He had never in his life seen such a picture of abject misery—a perilous combination of hurt, anger, frustration, and bone-deep shame. Will’s fists had retracted, his chin dipped, and he was crossing his arms in front of him as if to ward off a blow. He’d drifted behind Chris, who was still toe-pick-to-toe-pick with Chad, and even though Chris and Chad were of a height, the aggressive lordling had at least two stone on Chris. Not to mention, there were still two other boys in the picture, shifting increasingly restlessly on Chad’s flanks.

Derek knew he hadn’t had much experience in stableyard brawls, but he did have hand-to-hand experience in spades—so he didn’t have to fake _all_ of the confidence with which he stepped up to Chris’ side, effectively shielding Will from view.

“Seems like _you_ should be the one in service, then, doesn’t it? Since I see nothing in front of me to prove you’re better than even the dirt under my fingernails,” Derek sniffed, drawing this princely aura borne of power and influence and etiquette lessons ad-nauseum around him like a cloak.

They’d drawn a crowd at this point—boys and girls of all ranks and stripes pausing their play to watch the drama play out. Derek gritted his teeth, knowing the risk of discovery had just shot astronomically high. He’d been spoiling for a fight for the last hour, though, and if he couldn’t fight Will, he could certainly fight _for_ him.

“Oh, I’ll prove it, alright,” Chad shouted, his superior pretense gone in a second. Apparently, questioning his rank had been his tipping point. He began peeling out of his leather gloves.

“No, no, no, that’s gonna get us all called in for sure!” a new voice announced, and a very serious little girl slid out onto the ice. She was terrible on skates, her knees knocking like a fawn’s, but she had a determined scowl on her face and her elbow was held tightly in the grip of a concerned-looking page boy. “If you want to fight, do it with your sticks!” she ordered, pointing at the implements in Chad and his lackeys’ grips.

For a moment, Derek thought she had just doomed them to fighting _with weapons_ , but after a moment he realized the girl had meant that they should _play_ for their honor.

Well, it wasn’t a duel, and it wasn’t something stately like badminton or chess, but he was definitely no slouch when it came to hockey--he was assuming that’s what they meant.

“Fine,” Derek agreed, his haughty mask firmly in place now. He immediately turned to look at Chris, realizing he was giving orders when this had only become his fight moments before, but Chris looked equally determined and scowly and the boy nodded in agreement.

“Fine,” Chad hissed back. “Riley, Jonsey, you’re with me. Who else wants to be on the _winning_ team?”

Apparently, Chad was a lot more popular—or at least well known—than Derek had anticipated, because his team filled out in a matter of moments. All told, the team stood seven strong, including two scullery girls, one of whom was also named Chad.

Most of the other kids had vacated the pond, content for now to watch the debacle unfold, but a few still milled around on the ice near enough to Derek, Will, and Chris that Derek assumed they were volunteering to be on their side. Probably.

In the end, three stayed. The first was the page boy that had trundled onto the ice holding up the girl who had demanded that they ‘fight with their sticks’. He flipped his lengthy hair into a horse-tail with a twist of twine and grinned fiercely at everyone, introducing himself only as “Knight, cuz that’s what I’m on track to be.” He paused a second, then added, “But the code of chivalry is for douchebags who think women shouldn’t be on horses, so I think maybe I’m going to be a pretty shitty knight.” Chris had cheered and fist-bumped him happily.

The other two boys who stayed were part of the Winter Camp: Jack, a serious son of a minor lord several years older than Derek; and Eric, whose relationship to Jack wasn’t certain, except for the boy clung to him like glue and seemed intimidated by him in equal measures.

“Well, it’s not as if I can sit back and let some big bully push anyone around,” Eric had sniffed, although he peered at the milling boys on the other side of the ice with equal parts suspicion and nervousness. “I’ve had enough of that myself, thanks.”

“Are we gonna play,” Chad yowled at them, “Or did you finally grow some balls and wanna fight me?”

Shitty Knight—Derek didn’t really know what else to call him, and neither, it seemed, did anyone else—looked like he would have taken the boy up on his offer, but the rest of them spread out, more or less, into position. Eric, Jack, and Shitty had ended up in the offensive line by some kind of unspoken agreement, and Chris had whooped and called goalie. That left Derek and Will to warily eye each other on the defensive line.

Theoretically, Derek knew how the game worked, and had played it several times—but he wasn’t ready for the Winter Camp.

Their sticks of choice were old brooms, wide handled and horse-hair, and the puck was nothing more than a flat of wood polished smooth by friction. The wood was light, and it was _scary_ fast, and when the first break happened, Derek completely lost sight of it until someone launched it into his face.

“Not the ideal way to catch that,” grunted Will, which was rude but didn’t carry an edge of offense. Derek let him skate away, flinging the unruly puck in Jack’s general direction, while he licked the blood suddenly dripping down his lip and pretending that he was _totally fine_ and could walk that off.

It really hurt, though.

Kids were shouting at them on all sides, mostly for Chad and the rest of the opposing team to kick their asses. Derek wondered, absently, how much of that had to do with anyone genuinely liking that asshole, and how much of it had to do with popular opinion staying with the winning team—and Chad’s team _was_ winning. Apparently, most of them came from the same keep, La Crosse, and were used to working together.

Derek’s team…well, not so much. Jack was amazing, and did everything in his power to take the puck when given and absolutely smash through the other team. As nice as that was, though, Eric proved to be terrified of taking a hit and no amount of soft encouragements from Jack or loud encouragements from Shitty would convince him that brushing another player wasn’t the end of the world. The boy was _fast_ , though, which was as useful as it was annoying. He could get to the puck fast, but he could also skate far, far away from it when the mood struck him.

Shitty was okay, but he spent most of the game berating the other team with increasingly colorful and imaginative insults rather than watching the puck. Chris was a hell of a goalie, which was somehow a surprise to Derek. Will, however…

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that was your puck!” Will yelled at him as it slid by them. Chris caught it neatly and sent it spinning toward Shitty, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that the puck had slid _directly between them_ so, no, it was just as much Will’s as Derek’s, and Derek wasted no time in pointing that out.

“It was clearly closer to you!” Will wasn’t letting this go.

“Was not!” Derek riposted eloquently.

“Was too!”

“Suck my stick!”

“What are you, five?”

Derek was _eleven_ , and he thought that was a pretty grown-up insult if he did say so himself.

The puck flashed past the both of them, and this time, Chris couldn’t stop it. The sound of the La Crosse team cheering was almost drowned out by the frustrated shrieking that Derek and Will both let out at each other.

Derek knew that everyone was staring at them, especially his own team mates, but someone this infuriating, whose honor it was that Derek was actually fighting for, needed to know that he was _really stupid_.

Somehow, that ended with their fingers tangled in the other’s shirts, grappling for purchase and only barely staying upright together on the ice. Derek was half-leaning on, half-shoving Will, who was doing the same back to him, only harder and more obnoxiously, and maybe it wouldn’t be _terrible_ if Derek hit him right now—

“Knock it off!”

The order wasn’t authoritative; rather, it came out as pleading, which might have been what caused both Will and Derek to freeze where they were and focus on Chris. Derek felt an immediate pang, because the boy just looked so upset.  His face was red and blotched, and it might have been the cold, but his eyes were getting red too and he looked just miserable. There was a cut high on his cheek from where the puck had just whipped by him, and it looked like the skin around it was already starting to bruise—it had been a _hard_ shot.

“We’re supposed to be a team!” Chris clarified as he started to lecture the both of them. “You’re both my friends and it’s stupid if you end up hurting each other and—and—I’m not picking sides because I _can’t_ so I’ll just end up being sad and angry because someone ended up hurting my friends and it was my friends that did it!”

Not the most stirring of speeches, Derek might have criticized, except that he was stuck on the bit where Chris had called him a _friend_ , even though they’d only known each other a scant few hours. And also on the part where he realized that Chris’ face was really messed up from that puck and wasn’t it his job to protect him from that? That’s what the defense line did, right?

Unexpectedly, Will seemed to be on the same page as Derek. He obviously couldn’t keep his eyes off the injury, and every time Chris winced in pain as his cheeks stretched, Will winced too. Chris was still talking about how they had to stick together, but suddenly Will caught Derek staring at _him_ , and instead of it being awkward, an understanding passed between them. It didn’t matter what their personal beef was; they weren’t going to let Chris get hurt again.

“Hey, pansies, you still wanna do this, or did you finally figure out like the rest of us that the help should stay shoveling horse manure where he belongs?” one of the La Crosse team shouted.

Oh, right, and Derek was still in this on Will’s behalf, too. Because as annoying as he found the kid, he didn’t deserve this--and Chris seemed to like him, so he probably wasn’t too bad of a guy. Plus, it probably wasn’t healthy for Will to be turning that shade of red, even if it did interesting things to his cheekbones.

“Gay isn’t an insult!” Shitty yelled back at them.

“Suck my dick!”  Chad responded.

“With language like that, it’s becoming obvious that Will is not the lowest or the crudest one here, not by a long shot,” Derek interrupted. “If you can’t bother to be creative in your insults, then perhaps you should keep your mouth shut until you have something even mildly distressing to say.”

Chris’ responding giggle was gratifying, and Will patted him roughly on the shoulder as they skated back to their starting positions. The game began once more.

It was amazing what a shared vision could do, Derek decided. As soon as he realized what he and Will had in common—particularly, a fierce desire to make sure that Chris didn’t get hurt—they were completely unstoppable. With a shared determination, they formed a brick wall against any and all incursions against their goal. Jack was in fine form in offense, and as long as the puck reached him, he would do his damndest to score. In only a few minutes, they’d tied the score up – two to two, next point to win.

“We got this.” Derek skated close up to Will, nudging him conspiratorially.

Will nodded seriously, bumping his shoulder against Derek’s in agreement. “Let’s destroy them.”

Bloodthirsty, but Derek kind of agreed.

The sense of gravity had imparted itself on the game as the score tied itself up, and desperation settled on both teams. The spectators smelled blood in the water and were howling wildly for both teams, and Derek faced down the murder in the La Crosse team’s eyes with plenty of his own. Somehow, this felt like the most important game he’d ever played in all of his eleven years.

Eric came out on top on the breakaway and had the puck streaking toward the La Crosse goal almost faster than anyone could track – until one of the players, either Riley or Jonsey, absolutely barreled into him. Eric went down like a marionette with its strings cut, hands over his head, but the game didn’t stop. Jack was over at Eric’s side in an instant, apparently forgetting about the active gameplay or perhaps not caring. Shitty did his best, but Chad had the puck now and he whipped around him like he wasn’t even there.

Derek went for Chad, but the oversized skates he was wearing were finally starting to make their defects known, and he stumbled for half an instant. Chad had a clear shot for the goal, and shot as hard as he could. Derek whipped around, certain that he was about to watch his own bitter and humiliating defeat.

“Chris, you fucking _beaut!_ ” Shitty hollered, and Derek had just enough time to see Chris reach out with the utmost casualness to knock the puck out of the way with his broom and send it directly to Will.

Will had a man on him, and Shitty had two; Eric and Jack were out for the count. Derek spared Will one sideways glance, and Will had clearly had the same thought, because they locked gazes for one glorious moment before Will passed Derek the puck with the sweetest precision, and, taking a deep breath, Derek shot it straight at the opposing goal.

It surprised no one more than Derek when it went in.

The chaos was immediate. Half the spectators rushed the ice, cheering wildly and content to make noise and get back to the playground that had been occupied by this feud. Derek lost sight of Chad in the crowd, but after a moment, Chris and Will ended up by his side. Chris’ smile was out of control and a delight to see as he whooped and hopped, skidding all over in his excitement. Will’s smile was smaller but no less genuine, edged with a devious smirk because yeah, they’d decimated those bullies together. Chris’ hopping ended up into an uncontrolled dive somewhere between a hug and a tackle as he tried to get his arms around both Will and Derek at the same time and they ended up in a heady celebration that made Derek so unexpectedly happy that he lost his breath for just a moment.

“Good shot,” Will said to Derek in a low voice, and it made Derek’s chest puff out with a rising bubble of pride.

“It was all thanks to your pass,” Derek said honestly. “And—Chris, you’re awesome, you batted that last shot away like it was a fly or something.”

“We’re all awesome!” Chris announced, and Derek couldn’t help but agree.

“… _Prince Malik!”_

A strident voice cut through the celebration with the strength of experience being heard in chaotic council chambers and the added assurance of being so important that everyone was simply compelled to listen. It was one of Derek’s Minders, Lady Arlene Rosewight, striding forward with the inevitability of an icebreaking ship or a small avalanche, her royal blue velvet cloak streaming out behind her like a raptor’s wings.

Derek had been caught.

He wasted half a moment disentangling himself from his new friends’ impromptu embrace, and then another contemplating making a break for it—but he had been spotted, not just by Lady Rosewight, but by every other person on the pond. No one had missed Lady Rosewight’s words, nor who she had homed in on like a striding falcon.

A group of children had never been silenced so quickly or completely.

“I have been searching for you for _hours!_ ” Lady Rosewight screeched as she stomped dramatically through the snow. “You’ve been missing all day, and your parents have been worried sick. Why, I thought you were doing your lessons in your rooms, but I come to fetch you for lunch and find your rooms deserted…!”

He’d honestly been surprised she’d noticed that fast. It wasn’t unusual that he was left on his own until tea at least, unless he was expected somewhere.

Derek found himself very suddenly alone, facing down the furious juggernaut on slippery footing and with several spans between himself and every other child on the pond. Still, he could hear the disbelieving whispers.

“ _That’s the_ prince _—?”_

_“—he was playing with a stableboy—!”_

_“He’s gonna cut our heads off!”_

_“He told Chad to suck his—“_

_“He lied_.”

The last rang clear as a bell across the ice. Will was staring at him with an open mouth and a face as red as flame, the anger drowning under and expression that looked a lot more like hurt.

 _“M-maybe…maybe he had a good reason?_ ” Chris was whispering to Will, but he sounded doubtful, wobbly.

Derek looked away from them, back at the quivering figure of one of his most terrifying Minders. She knew exactly what she was going to do to him, and it was absolutely nothing. That was the punishment for acting out—confined to his rooms, no one allowed in except to bring him meals. Lessons would be suspended in favor of ‘literature and contemplation’. The longest he’d ever been confined was three days—but what he had done today would warrant many, many more.

The only recourse was clear. If she thought that he was afraid, she would add only that much more time to his punishment. Instead, he deliberately relaxed his position, hooded his eyes, and stared steadily back at her, letting his mouth twist up into a smirk that he hoped look less bitter than it felt.

“Yeah?” he asked, just the right edge of a dare.

Her eyes narrowed, performative worry dissolving quickly into real anger.

“You are behaving in the most unpleasant and unacceptable manner,” she snapped, and grabbed at his arm. He could have skidded back onto the pond, out of her reach, but there was no point. No one out there would help him. “And look at your face! How are you to be expected to appear to your parents’ dinners with a disgraceful mark of your…your indiscretions! Shaming them in front of all of the visiting lords—no, you must be given the time to heal. A week, at least, before you would be presentable again.”

Derek had forgotten about his split lip, but the roar of disbelief in his ears drowned out the resurgence of its sting. He had no idea what expression might have been on his face, but the satisfied grin that Lady Rosewight shot at him confirmed his fears. He was to be confined for a week, his own body used against him. He had no doubt that if he worried at the scab and it broke even a little, it would be an excuse to extend his punishment.

With a confidence he didn’t feel, he had just enough courage to scoff. “Worth it,” he told the world at large. He was hauled off, his boots gone and forgotten, his borrowed skates scraping in the snow. He didn’t look back, and no one called after him.

 

* * *

 

In the end, it was five days before Derek spoke to anyone, or saw anyone but glimpses of nameless servants as they slid trays of food into his rooms or pages as they practiced in the yards outside.

 

The first two days weren’t so bad. He could sleep as late as he wanted, and didn’t have to sit through maths lectures by one of the other Minders, his elderly tutor Lord Eldridge. It was worth it not to have to dodge flying spittle when the octogenarian got too passionate about algebra or alchemy.

 

He could read and write, too, and as the third day crept by, Derek threw himself into poetry. He’d been working on a pamphlet, like some of the most popular romanticists in the kingdom. He wasn’t sure he could write convincingly about eternal love or honor in chivalry, but he was _trying_. His horse ended up in there more often than not, but that was alright, because horses were noble and a perfectly acceptable subject for poetry.

 

Except the glory of a job well done, or the eternal and pure love of Truth, or even the idea of wind whipping around his ears as he rode, did not inspire him as they normally did. He was bored, he was lonely, and he just wanted to talk to someone, even if it was one of his Minders. He felt forgotten.

 

After all, it has been three days, and no one had come looking for him. There wasn’t anyone who would miss him—if Lady Rosewight had his parents convinced, then no one would even know he was gone.

His lip had fully healed, but Lady Rosewight hadn’t even come to check. She was serious about leaving him to himself for the whole week.

 

The only break of interest that he could find was the practice yards beneath his window. The various knight corps, gathered in for the winter, were training their youngest initiates hard. Derek watched pages struggle through their first drills, squires beating each other with padded weapons, and the full training of the knights. Chris was down there, and Derek caught glimpses of him sometimes. He could have yelled down, maybe—he was only three stories above, close enough to hear bits of conversation—but what could he possibly say? How could he apologize for something he wasn’t exactly sure that he was sorry for? He had never wanted to deceive or hurt his new friends, but here now was the reason he had done it, the thing he had dreaded.

 

It felt, a little, like he had lost friends for nothing at all.

 

His mood was growing worse and he felt sick when he woke up on the fourth day. A low hum of tension was growing in the back of his brain, and he was restless. Books didn’t hold his interest, nor did writing. He found himself pacing in front of the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Chris practicing, but the day was grey and the wind howled, promising to bring a true storm. No one who didn’t need to be outside dared leave the castle.

 

Breakfast came on schedule, and so did lunch, but Derek didn’t eat. He couldn’t quite stomach it, despite it being something to focus on that wasn’t his own boredom and clawing thoughts. It was the fourth day, and no one had come looking to check on him.

 

Did they even know he was here?

 

Who would come for him?

 

The thought stuck in his brain on repeat and it _wouldn’t stop_. He laid down on the chaise in his living space, thinking he could nap it away, but sleep wouldn’t come.

 

Finally he sat down again to his writing. Sometimes, when he was feeling terrible, putting it all on paper would help. He could even go further, taking the words that the feelings had engendered and crumpling them into a ball or setting them on fire. He uncapped his ink and took out his pen, but it didn’t feel right in his hand, blunted by a week of hard use. Frustrated, he flipped out his pen knife and worried at the edges.

 

A wild flick of his wrist caught the quill at the wrong angle and his arm jerked in the wrong direction. His uncapped bottle of ink smashed to the stone floor with a horrific noise, spattering precious ink and shards of glass everywhere.

 

Derek took a long look at the mess, blinked, and started crying.

 

It was patently ridiculous. He wasn’t a _baby_. It didn’t matter that he’d made a bit of a mess; he wouldn’t even have to be the one to clean it up. It didn’t matter, though; it hit him like a fist between the eyes, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe but for the great heaving sobs that rushed out of him.

 

“Let--me--out,” he sobbed quietly into the empty room. His words echoed back to him weakly.

 

“Let me out!”

 

He’d barely  made a sound in the last four days--it hurt his throat, startled his nerves. There was no one around to hear it, anyway. Maybe no one would come for him at all, not ever; they had forgotten him here and would never remember.

 

“ _Let me out!_ ”

 

It came out as a shriek, and then it wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop screaming with a force that bruised his throat and made him feel like throwing up.

 

“ _Let me out let me out let me out_ \--!”

 

The doorknob rattled.

 

The servants! If they came with food, they must have the key. He could use that--he could _run_. Derek dashed to the door, pounding on the wood. The doorknob rattled again but would not turn.

 

Muffled voices came from the other side, but he could barely make out the words.

 

“ _Locked--doesn’t want to--hiding, Chris_.”

 

“ _No--in trouble--we have to--”_

 

_“--Hear that?”_

 

One more time the knob rattled violently, then everything went still and quiet.

 

Derek couldn’t hold himself up, and didn’t care to. No one was here to see him, and no one would be able to judge. His last hope had just come and gone, leaving him completely alone. He sank to the floor, a sobbing, snotty mess--which was how they found him as the door swung open.

 

Out in the hallway, Chris and Will froze like hunted deer, both crouched in front of the door. Will still had the lock picks out in his hand. Derek looked up at thim, hiccuping, his stomach swooping.

 

“Derek!” Chris yelped, scrambling inside the door.

 

“ _Shush_ ,” Will hissed, shoving the picks into a trouser pocket and taking care to shut the door quietly. Derek winced as he was closed in again, but he was too busy processing the shock of these boys, here, to react further.

 

Chris had dropped to his knees in front of Derek, hands fluttering helplessly as if he wanted to touch but wasn’t sure if he should. Will stood above them, fists clenched, a hard expression on his face.

 

“Are you okay?” Chris asked plaintively.

 

Derek hiccuped.

 

“Well of course he’s not!” Will snapped. He didn’t move, but Chris finally found the courage to put comforting hand on Derek’s shoulder.

 

Derek looked up at Chris, trying to breathe steadily and to blink away the moisture in his eyes. He saw something in Chris soften even further and couldn’t quite take the scrutiny, dropping his head to his chest and curling up even further into himself, making himself as small as possible.

 

There was a pause, then, with a heavy and put-upon sigh, Will sank to the floor with the other two boys. He sat stiffly next to Derek, pressed together shoulder to thigh but back ramrod-straight.

 

“This is why you lied,” Will said darkly.

 

Derek wanted to apologize. Instead, he sniffled and nodded. He tried to hunch into himself even more, suddenly mortified.

 

“How--” he coughed, then tried again, “Why are you here?”

 

Chris settled onto his other side, mirroring Will’s position, but putting a hand on Derek’s leg. “Well, I kept seeing you up in the window when I was training--I knew it was the prince’s room, that’s what the rumors said, right, and after I knew it was you--sorry--I just kept. Checking? To see? I don’t know, but I figured, after that scary lady dragged you off, maybe you were in trouble.”

 

The sound Derek made wasn’t quite a laugh, and bubbled up out of him wetly. “I’m...I’m being a baby. She just locked me in here. She didn’t do anything else.”

 

“You haven’t left since the game?” Will asked. He didn’t relax even one muscle, and all his questions sounded like accusations.

 

Derek shook his head.

 

There was a half measure of silence, then Will asked:

 

“...would you have?”

 

Chris made a disbelieving noise, and Derek’s first thought was to do the same. Of _course_ he would have left! He wanted to be out, to walk around, and to ride his horse and find his friends and apologize for...

 

“... _apologize_ ,” Derek mumbled into where he’d pressed his face into his knees.

 

“What?” asked Chris.

 

Will managed to stiffen even more.

 

Derek took a deep breath and looked up, addressing the far wall but meaning every word.

 

“I would have come to apologize. That’s all I wanted. You guys were acting like maybe we could be friends and then I _ruined_ it, but I _had_ to, I couldn’t tell anyone who I was--’cause--’cause then... _this_ would happen!”

 

His face was hot and his eyes burned but he didn’t start crying again. Maybe it was only because he was out of tears by now.

 

Chris spoke first.

 

“I mean, I was mad at first--sorry--but...this is terrible! We have to get you out of here!”

 

“C, where could he go? He’s the _crown prince_. He can’t just run away! Everyone would be searching frantically for him, and they’d recognize him in an instant,” Will argued, shifting a little so he could argue over Derek’s head. He put his hand on Derek’s back to brace himself.

 

“...we didn’t…” Chris muttered.

 

Will let out an irritated huff. “Yeah, well. If we can’t get him away from the situation, we need to make it better.”

 

“How, though?”

 

“I don’t know!”

 

Derek shook himself, peering at the bickering friends in turn. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Fixing this!” Will shouted at him.

 

It took Derek a moment to parse out the words from their harsh tone. “Wait, really? You want to do that for me?” Chris had seemed to forgive him, but...Will?

 

Will’s jaw clenched and he looked away. The room was dark--it was late, Derek realized, and he hadn’t lit more than a candle or two--but he could see the flush creeping down Will’s neck.

 

“Chris was convinced you were in trouble but I thought you were just hiding because you were too scared to own up to what you did. I came up so I could...I mean, yell at you, probably. Get you to say sorry. But you’re not sorry, are you?”

 

“I’m not sorry I lied,” Derek said, chin jutting out for a moment. “But...I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to tell you the truth, either.”

 

Will nodded, like that was that. “Fine, so we’re going to fix this.”

 

Chris scrambled to his feet. “I know how we can start!” He bounded over to the door and pressed his ear against it, then nodded decisively. “They’re definitely not going to come get you before the morning, right?”

 

Derek doubted they would come for him tomorrow, either.

 

“And Will doesn’t have duties until after sunrise tomorrow, right?”

 

Will shrugged. “It’s slow in winter and Mayhew lets me have Sunsday mornings off.”

 

“And I don’t have to be anywhere tomorrow either! So...if you’re bored and lonely in here, let’s have a sleepover!”

 

Derek didn’t know what to say to that except for a resounding yes.

 

They pulled down all the comforters and blankets and the big down quilt from the bed, plus all the pillows. Will put a bedwarmer into the coals for a bit, and then they shuffled the whole mess into a corner, stripping down to smallclothes and burrowing into the pile. Derek didn’t get a wink of sleep that whole night, even when the ghost stories and pillow-fighting and jostling for position were done: Chris had fallen asleep with an elbow in his back and a leg flung out across his knee, and Will snored louder than he shouted.

 

Derek couldn’t remember if he had ever been happier.

 

\----_____----

 

It was hard to watch them both leave the next morning, but Derek was warmed by his friends’ goodbyes. Will nodded seriously as he crept out the door, patting Derek’s shoulder, then his own pocket, where he’d stashed his lock picks.

 

“I’ll teach you how to use these later, okay?” Will promised. “We’ll come back when we can.”

 

Derek nodded tightly, then yelped as Chris flew into the both of them, trapping them in an ungainly embrace.

 

“We’re gonna come back for you,” Chris promised earnestly. “No matter how long you’re stuck in here.”

 

Derek didn’t start crying again, but he did clutch the both of them tighter.

 

In the end, Lady Rosewight enforced her entire threat--it was seven days before Derek was released from his room. Chris and Will snuck in every night and he slept most of the day. It wasn’t _good,_ but Chris taught him sword moves and Will told him about how the horses were doing and how Chad was terrible at riding, and Derek figured out they all liked adventure stories and read out loud some of his favorite books as they acted out the best parts.

 

It wasn’t _good_ , but it worked. In fact, it worked well enough that when Lady Rosewight came for him, he could walk out of the room with his head held high and a mask of indifference on his face.

 

“I hope you have learned your lesson,” the woman said primly.

 

Derek had just enough energy to smirk. “Ch’yeah.” He shrugged. He had learned a lot--like how some punishments ended up being worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the winter passed in a blur.

 

“You’re still riding my horse,” Derek drawled, leaning against the stable fence. Minder Eldridge was arguing with Master Mayhew about _something_ over in the stable and wouldn’t come by to fetch him for awhile.

 

Will looked up from his slow gallop around the yard, face flushed and brow furrowed grumpily. “Don’t you have to...I don’t know, rule a country?” he snapped.

 

Derek grinned and decided to see how badly he could distract Will during his chores.

 

* * *

 

 

“Will, Will, look at this cool new move I learned today!” Chris enthused, bouncing around the desolate training fields. Jack, the older squire from the pond, was at the far end, ignoring them and practicing hard, but no one else was around.

 

“See, if someone tries to grab me--yeah, like that!--I just hold their arm and twist--!”

 

“Ack--! Ow, Chris!”

 

The sound of a body hitting packed earth was loud and violent; the cussing that followed even more so.

 

“Wait, Chris, like this?” Derek asked sweetly.

 

“Huh? Oh yeah, you just take my arm and--Ow! ....Derek, stop laughing, that’s not funny!”

 

Derek only stopped laughing after he got dragged to the ground, too.

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, I have to misuse my power some time, right?” Derek said a touch--alright, a lot--smugly as he let his friends into the royal bathing chambers. He’d promised Minder Alisande that he’d stay inside the whole day, and when the young woman who was in charge of “comportment and ettiquette” had only shrugged and threatened that _he’d better_ , he knew he’d won. It was just enough time to sneak Chris and Will into the chambers, which were underground and were heated by--the rumors were--magic that bubbled up from deep beneath the castle floors.

 

“Is that---that’s _huge_ ,” Will goggled. “You can do laps in that that in the summer.”

 

“You don’t have to wait til summer,” Derek promised, wriggling out of his shoes and hose.

 

“Don’t wanna freeze my stones off,” Chris protested, then giggled at his own boldness.

 

Will couldn’t hold back a laugh either. “Ha, _stones_.”

 

“It’s warm!” And with that Derek dived in, splashing the other two mightily--thus both proving the temperature and provoking a water fight that spanned the entire chamber.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek was so stupidly happy by March, that the first crocuses peeking amid the neglected castle gardens gave him inspiration and not pause. The ground had begun to thaw, turning the paddock and the training fields into a in interminable sea of mud. People were emerging from their winter occupations and beginning the work of resetting their lives for another year.

 

“We pack out in two days,” Will said bluntly, his habitual frown deepened from custom into seriousness.

 

They were all sitting on the paddock fence, as far away from the castle as they could get while still being in view of Master Mayhew, who was acting as Minder for Derek for the afternoon. Derek and Chris were halfway through the sack of the last of the winter apples that they’d procured, but Will was just holding his in his hands, turning it around and occasionally rubbing imaginary dirt off its surface.

 

Derek froze, mouth full of apple; Chris just hunched his shoulders guiltily. “Um… yeah, us too.”

 

Of course they would. Chris and Will didn’t _live here_. Chris’ family’s holding was almost two weeks away by caravan. LaCrosse was even further. Derek swallowed heavily; it hurt his throat.

 

“Oh, right,” he shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his voice wobbled and he knew neither of his friends were fooled.

 

They all stared off silently in different directions for a bit. Will was jiggling his foot on the bottom rung of the fence; it made the whole thing tremble. In the distance, the camp--tents grand and small, pop-up stables, cookfires--were being systematically demolished, ready to be carted off again. Derek wondered at the parallels--it felt like his life was getting picked apart and carted away as well.

 

He startled, sitting straight up and almost toppling off the railing, but both Chris and Will had reacted fast enough to grab an arm and reeled him back in.

 

“Wait, Will, does that mean you have to go back...with _Chad_?”

 

Will’s expression was rueful. “Yeah.”

 

“Ew,” Chris said, pulling a face.

 

Derek took advantage of his friends’ grips on him to wiggle his hand into his trouser pockets, coming back with the pearl pocketknife he’d gotten from his father this year for his nameday. He pressed it firmly into Will’s hand, looking at him seriously. “You might need this.”

 

Will’s nod was equally serious. It probably should have scared Derek just a little.

 

“And you!” Derek announced, turning to Chris. He was struck with the best idea ever, no pondering necessary. After a little fumbling, he came up with one of his clean, pressed handkerchiefs. It wasn’t one of the stupid monogrammed ones, but instead one that he’d accidentally mixed up with one of his mama’s in her boudoir one day and never returned--it was painstakingly embroidered with fall leaves in gilt thread.

 

“You’re gonna be a knight, right?” Derek pressed when Chris looked up at him, confused but clutching the offering anyway. “People give their knights stuff to carry with them, right? I saw someone do it at the last joust. S-so. So you both have something of mine and… and that means you gotta come back, right?” His mama had told him stories of the fae, ancient tales of the creatures that once lived on their lands and far beyond. He didn’t remember many of them, but he remembered that if they had something of yours--a lock of your hair, a glimpse of your reflection--they could always find you again.

 

They stayed on the fence all afternoon, finishing the bag of apples and not saying anything much. Later, Derek would wonder why they didn’t do anything else, have one big last hurrah of an adventure, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret any part of those last few hours.

 

* * *

 

 

Christopher Chow learned to play chess the summer he turned twelve. He remembered, in Derek’s cold, empty room, how the crystal chess set had sat on the table, glorious and untouched, and how Will had looked at it with an avarice that was not about possessing the thing but the knowledge of it.

 

His brothers spent their summer with the business of the Duchy of Saint Joseph, a deep water port by the sea. They learned sailcraft and mercantile theory and what a gold coin meant and how it could buy twenty tonnes of wheat one month but only eighteen the next. As the third son, there was not much to do with Chris but teach him to serve his kingdom.

 

Chris never regretted it, not once--his heart was in the burn of it, the hard work, the knowledge that he could still be something great by the strength of his own hands. When he was not training with the guardsmaster of the Duchy, however, he was left much to his own devices. Up until now he had spent his time trailing his brothers and his father like a lost puppy, involved but not included, quite; knowing they envied him for his freedom and wondering if he should envy them in turn.

 

It was to the relief of all that he began showing signs of his own interests, in sea-craft and the ins and outs of the docks, as he spent all of his time down on the wharfs. He would not break his mother’s good mood to explain that it was not out of any desire to become more adept at business, but rather, to pester the retired longshoremen as they spat tobacco and played chess on splintered boards perched atop barrels.

 

Strategy lessons in his dull and ancient books escaped him, but here on the board they became new life, and dissuaded some of his guilt over the privilege of the hobby. By harvest, he knew the game well enough to teach it as well, and only grinned when the indulgent longshoremen who had become his friends made knowing noises into their beards.

 

* * *

 

 

That winter, when all three could be spared from their duties, they spent it hidden away in Derek’s quarters, undisturbed, as a fire roared in the hearth. Derek would read aloud from some new or favorite book, and Will and Chris would puzzle over the board, by turns triumphant and outraged, bickering and laughing, the three of them, long after the game became nothing but an excuse to argue and talk and pass time.

 

* * *

 

 

William, son of William, of the town of Poindexter, broke his pocket knife the year he turned fourteen.

 

He was far, far too old to cry about it, but his father saw his face and knew anyway, and proceed, miraculously, to show him how it could all fit back together.

 

“The blade can be removed here,” Liam of Poindexter had told his oldest son, gently collecting the broken pieces from Will’s hands and laying them out on the table in the middle of the farmhouse. “And can be replaced with a few extra studs. I’ll show you how to reinforce it around the grip, too.” He could re-inlay the mother of pearl that had fallen from its casing as well, and to Will, the operation had been nothing less than magic.

 

“Go ahead,” Liam had told him after demonstrating each task. “You can fix it yourself.”

 

And so Will did. He put the blade back together with his own two hands, strengthened and honed, almost better than he had received it.

 

He never told his father that he’d snapped the blade in anger--digging at a tree after a disastrous day working on the Earl of LaCrosse’s errands. Most of them seemed to be mindless fetching and cleaning and repairing of careless things the Earl’s son, none other than Chad, had destroyed or made a mess of. Will’s family had been in service to the Earl for years and had gained respect as hardworking and reliable folks. Never had anyone in their family been referred to as an “errand boy” or “dogsbody” to their faces--not until Chad.

 

So, frustrated and violent and unable to fight back, Will had run off to the woods after being dismissed for the day and took out his frustrations, carving angry words and thick scars into an impassive oak. He should have known such a beautiful, delicate present that he’d been given wouldn’t last against the hard wood.

He had to be more _careful_ , to breathe and think, or his own anger could lose him what he loved.

 

The next time that Chad maligned him--and his younger brother, and his father--Will saw red once again, and once again, had no outlet he could use to retaliate. Instead, he very calmly loosened every nail in Chad’s impressive canopy bed so that the slightest shake would send it collapsing around the occupant’s ears.

 

* * *

 

 

That winter, a storm ripped through so badly that everyone--from knights to scullery maids and all in between--crowded into the castle walls and could not leave for two days. Regular duties and chores, lessons and training, were all suspended but for cookstaff and body servants, and even those were reduced out of necessity. It was a giant sleepover within the castle fortifications, and the keep was flooded with people running in and out.

 

For Will and Chris and Derek, that meant two whole days to themselves. No one would cuff Will for shirking his duties, or sniff at Chris for socializing above his station, or Derek below it. No one came looking for them or cared that they spent every waking moment together, and for the first day it was spectacular. By the second, however, being trapped inside in a keep that smelled more and more of farm animals, coupled with a rising tension in each one’s blood that they would only later know to attribute to restlessness and the particular hormone combination of teenage boys, led to picking fights and bickering that was much rowdier than their affectionate norm.

 

“No, _you’re_ stupid,” was the last thing Will remembered saying, before lashing out blindly. Both his arms ran into something solid, and with a pained noise, Derek was falling backwards into Chris, who in turn overbalanced and tumbled down a short stone flight of stairs.

 

There was a terrible sound of flesh hitting stone, and a strangled whine that would not have come out of Chris on purpose.

 

Derek’s face went ashy, and Will knew his expression must be horrified, but he didn’t have more than a moment to contemplate before he was running to Chris’ side.

 

Thankfully, the boy was already sitting up, tears in his eyes but, as Will got closer, he could see they were bright and lucid, his pupils normal, unlike when one of the stablehands got thrown by a bad-tempered horse and sustained a concussion. Will reached for him, but Chris flung out his arm, wincing and blinking.

 

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

“Chris--” Derek tried.

 

“Don’t, I’m _fine_ ,” he hissed, looking a lot less than fine. “Leave me alone. Both of you.”

 

Will froze, hurt even though he had no right, a dozen different apologies on his lips. Here again, his own frustration and hurt had been taken out on what he considered the most precious, and he’d damaged it. Hurt it. Hurt Derek, by pushing him down, and then Chris even worse.

 

 _Go ahead_ , Liam of Poindexter had told him, _You can fix it yourself._

 

The first thing Will had done to fix his blade was to separate the pieces so that he could figure out what is wrong.

 

“I will,” Will conceded. “ _We_ will. Leave you alone, that is.”

 

Derek looked appalled on several levels, including being told what to do.

 

“We will find you at sundown,” Will said, not sure if it was a threat or a promise yet. He almost grabbed Derek in an effort to drag him off, but hesitated at the last moment and just gestured vaguely away. “Let’s go.”

 

He didn’t wait for a response, striking off in a random direction, but heard Derek sternly tell Chris to “go to the healer” before there was the sound of footsteps leading off away from Will.

 

It didn’t feel good to leave Chris behind, just like it hadn’t felt good to take apart the knife after he’d damaged it already. But, Will reflected, headed toward the temporary shelters they’d set up for the horses in an effort to calm his nerves, he knew now that there was a way to reforge it even stronger. He had faith that he could _learn_ from this. He just had to be more careful, in the future.

 

* * *

 

 

Tension thawed, as did ice, and the bump on Chris’ head healed. There had been a lot of awkward apologies, a lot left unsaid, but Will made sure to worry at the worst of the sore points until they’d been at least acknowledged. He swore up and down to never raise his hands to his friends in anger. He didn’t know if he could keep the promise, but he was scared enough to try.

 

The caravans began to slowly roll up their tents and ready themselves to leave the Winter Camp once more. A flash of unseasonably warm weather had melted the pond ice early, and

Will and Chris and Derek found themselves by the water. As the years had passed and Derek continued to chafe at his bonds, the Minders’ rules had eased somewhat, and although there were some who would give a side-eye to seeing the Crown Prince lounging among the children of the keep, most treated him well. Some may have been too obsequious, or some even hostile, but the best of them neither noticed nor seemed to care that Derek was any more or any different from the rest of them.

 

The group that found themselves up various trees near the muddy banks of the pond were a motley crew. Jack and Eric, who had resolved themselves both to be minor lords from adjacent holdings, shared a branch, while above them both perched the Shitty Knight. Shitty, as he’d prevailed upon everyone to call him, was busy throwing candied nuts into the wide-open mouth of a girl named Larissa, who it turned out lived in the town outside the keep. She had scaled a tree near the rest of them, and was making it as hard as possible for Shitty to make his shots.

 

Will and Chris were in Larissa’s tree, and Derek had elected a branch below Shitty, trying to catch in his hands anything that fell from his bag. They watched two other friends, Adam and Justin, wrestling next to the muddy bank below. They were both squires like Chris and Shitty, and had apparently not been as exhausted as the other two by whatever workout the armsmaster had sent them through that morning.

 

Across the pond, a group of girls had hiked up their skirts and were squelching through the muddy banks to wade in the shallows. Chris waved at one of them, who smiled widely and waved back before going back to what Chris was pretty sure was tadpole-hunting.

 

“Do you li~ke her?” Derek asked in a particularly sing-song manner.

 

Chris looked across at him, confused. “Caitlin? Yeah of course.”

 

Will reached out like he was going to shove him a little, but stopped himself. He’d been skittish since the storm, and Chris wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. It had been a dumb accident when they were all upset, and while he was happy that Will was trying to lash out less, Chris wasn’t fragile. In fact, Will had been becoming less tactile with both of them, more withdrawn, and Chris wasn’t sure why.

 

“He didn’t mean it like that,” Will told Chris seriously. “Like, do you think she’s pretty?”

 

Chris smiled wide. “She’s _gorgeous_. And super smart! Did you know her parents are farmers? But she is apprenticed to the Guildmaster already! That’s why she came this year--she is sitting in on the Council of Commerce meetings this winter. _And_ she sometimes comes to practice when the Armsmaster isn’t paying attention.”

 

Will made a gesture over at Derek that clearly meant, _See?_

 

Derek raised an eyebrow, though, looking suspicious. Derek had really nice eyebrows.

 

“C, I mean, do you want to court her? Or, kiss her?”

 

Chris had known what Derek had meant--not right away, maybe, but when Will had clarified. He didn’t know why he was prevaricating, except that he wasn’t sure if he had an answer, and playing dumb was better than admitting it.

 

“Courting and kissing are way different,” he hedged.

 

“No, they’re not,” Will groused, and his ears were red.

 

“Are too. I want to kiss Caitlin,” he announced, coming to that conclusion right as he said it. “I mean. I don’t think I want to ask her to, but I wouldn’t be mad if she kissed me. But I don’t want to court her.”

 

“How can you want to kiss someone but not court them; that makes no sense,” Will pressed.

 

Shitty chimed in. “Come on, it’s super unhealthy to try to put sex and love together like that.” Derek and Larissa both snickered, probably because Shitty said ‘sex’. “Oh, stop, you two. Some people don’t even want to have sex at all!”

 

Eric joined in this time, sounding appalled. “Shitty Knight, we were talking about _kissing_ , not sex!”

 

Derek and Larissa made entirely inappropriate sounds of amusement, but Eric would not stop berating Shitty, while Shitty tried to explain that, “ _Right, but physical desire is expressed through touch, so my conclusions are--_ ”

 

Will, red-faced, was looking out over the pond at the girls again. Chris wondered if he was looking at anyone in particular.

 

“I can’t pick it apart in my head,” Will said in a quiet voice. “I’m not even sure I want to.”

 

Chris looked up at him, putting a hand on top of where Will was gripping the branch so hard his knuckles stood out in sharp relief. Will flinched but didn’t pull away. “You don’t have to.”

 

Will closed his eyes, but hooked his pinky over Chris’. “I don’t know if you’re right about that.”

 

“Hey, you okay?”

 

Somehow, in their distraction, neither Chris nor Will noticed Derek had switched trees and was shimmying up the branches towards them.

 

“Whatcha talkin’ about?” Derek drawled, squeezing himself onto Will’s branch.

 

“Nothing--” Will started.

 

“I mean, there _are_ people I’d like to kiss _and_ court,” Chris blurted out, not quite sure why he wanted them to know.

 

“Wait, _who_?” Derek demanded. “Do you li~ke them?”

 

“Do you e~ver shut up?” Will mocked in the same tone of voice.

 

Chris wasn’t bothered. “I don’t know. People. At least, theoretically. I’m sure they exist, though.”

 

“Yeah, me too,” Derek agreed, suddenly thoughtful. They fell into silence for a moment, all staring out over the pond, but Chris was pretty sure no one was looking at the girls anymore.

 

That went for all their friends, as well. In fact, over in the other tree, clearly assuming no one was watching since Derek--and apparently Shitty and Larissa, too--had vacated it, Jack and Erik were paying very little attention to anything except each other.

 

“Oh my god!” Chris shrieked as he noticed, just as Derek shouted in real joy.

 

“Jack and Erik, sittin’ in a tree!” Derek sang gleefully, and Chris and Will joined in the spelling

 

* * *

 

 

That summer, Chris’ holding got word that--far, far in the future, the message stressed--the sons of the House of Zimmerman and the House of Bittle were betrothed to be married.

 

That summer was also the year that Caitlin really did ask to kiss Chris, and Chris happily agreed. It was fun, and Caitlin was really good, but they both agreed that their curiosity had been assuaged and no, courting really wasn’t in the cards. Which was fine, because she agreed to be Chris’ sparring partner in the evenings, and that was even better.

 

* * *

 

 

The summer after that, in LaCrosse, Will’s father suggested casually at dinner that “the Fordham girl comes from good stock, Will, and I hear she’s taken a real shine to you. And a union with her family wouldn’t go amiss.”

 

Will hid in a tree for hours after that, even after his father came looking for him to see what the fuss was about, and it was then that he realized with a pang that he might have a real problem.

 

* * *

 

 

The summer after _that_ , Derek heard that the Saint Joseph contingent may not be able to make the trip that winter, due to labor disputes at the port. Derek sat in the library for three weeks, ruthlessly learning the labor code, then the teamster union bylaws, then the shipping pattern in the harbor. That year was the first that he sat on the Council of Commerce, and by harvest, the dispute had been solved to mutual satisfaction.

 

The Council of Commerce also granted Derek an opportunity to see the kinds of political alliances that his parents were pursuing, and who they might be angling for a strategic marriage with. They hadn’t approached Derek yet, which was both relieving and concerning, but Derek would be ready when they did.

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t bring it up for another two years, and by the time they did, by god did Derek have a plan.

 

* * *

 

 

It was the winter after they’d all turned eighteen that Chris realized it, and he didn’t stop himself from saying it out loud.

 

“Oh!” he said excitedly, waving his arms and nearly falling off his horse. “That’s why I didn’t want to court Caitlin!”

 

It was a well-known fact that the Collins shipping heir had asked Caitlin for her hand, and Caitlin had enthusiastically accepted. Chris’ father, the Duke of Saint Joseph, was going to stand up for her, as Caitlin’s father had died some years previously. Several members of the Winter Camp, who had formed an impromptu hockey league for years and thoroughly enjoyed beating the LaCrosse contingent at every opportunity, had been overjoyed for her, while still expressing their concern to Chris that, somehow, this affected him.

 

Even Will had clapped him on the shoulder with an “I’m sorry, that’s rough,” which Chris didn’t get at all. In the end, he and Caitlin had never been anything but friends, and everyone seemed nonplussed as to why.

 

And Chris had just figured it out.

 

“Because I wanted to court you two instead!” He was so excited that he had figured it out. It had been bothering him, off and on, for years--why he wasn’t feeling the way everyone expected him to, and why, whenever he thought of his future, it was always with the other two beside him.

 

“Because I want to live with you two and--I mean, probably marry you, how would that work though?--and like I wouldn’t be mad if we couldn’t get married, as long as I got to be with you forever. Would that be okay? Like, could we do that?” He looked at Derek for confirmation. “I mean, I know, crown prince and all, so I’m sure you have responsibilities, but you get a lot of say in things, too.” He took a deep breath, realizing both his friends had stopped their horses, so his had stopped too. They weren’t going anywhere--just standing still in a field somewhere right outside the castle. “Um. Oh. You guys aren’t saying anything. Do you not want to court?”

 

Will’s skin had almost turned the color of the snow, and Derek looked glazed over like the time he’d gotten the flu and pretended he hadn’t until his fever had made him pass out at the High Table at a formal dinner.

 

Those expressions would normally be hilarious, except--

 

“I mean...can’t we?” Chris asked nervously. Then he paused, realized he’d assumed too much too quickly. “Or...you guys don’t want to?” He had been _sure_ they would. It made _sense_. But they weren’t _saying_ anything.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, C, wait, no,” Derek said, dismounting his horse. Will did as well, stumbling ungracefully as he hit the dirt. “Just...uh, we need a second? We’ve never--we haven’t thought about this before, is all--right, Will?”

 

Except Will’s startled, wide-eyed gaze kept tracking between Derek and Chris and he looked for all the world like a cornered fox.

 

“Will?” Chris asked, finally dismounting as well.

 

“Is that a thing people can do?” Will asked, voice strangled. His face was turning from white to red, his eyebrows angling his expression into a scowl, but chris had long ago learned that strong emotion often appeared like anger on Will. “Court two people at once? Court two...two _men_ at once?”

 

Chris scoffed, unable to help it. “Well, if they want to, I don’t see why not.”

 

“And you want to?” Will pressed, brow still furrowed but voice pleading.

 

“That’s what I’m _saying_ ,” Chris repeated. “If you do. And Derek does.”

 

Will’s gaze swung back over to Derek, and his body hunched defensively. It was Derek’s turn to look gob-smacked, but his shoulders were relaxed and his face was open.

 

“ _Ch’yeah_ ,” Derek said with feeling. “I mean, I never thought about it before--and you’re a _genius,_ C--but that’s--yeah. Yeah, I want to. I really, really want to.”

 

Chris smiled brightly at him, then turned to Will. “Answer your question?” Chris asked him.

 

Will blinked for a heartbeat, two dropping his gaze. Then his face softened and a tiny, but _real_ smile broke across it.

 

“God, yes,” he said quietly.

 

“Yes!” Chris shouted, bouncing on his toes a little. He didn’t delude himself into thinking that it would be _easy_ , but as long as they all wanted to make it work, it would.

 

“Wait,” Derek said excitedly. “Does that mean I can kiss you two now? And hold hands like Bits and Jack do?” The possibilities lit Derek’s dark eyes with absolute glee. “That would be so chill.”

 

“Well, you can _definitely_ kiss me,” Chris encouraged, thrilled that everyone seemed to be on board. “Will?”

 

“Um...yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

 

Will was still having a hard time stringing words together or meeting anyone’s eyes. Derek looked at Chris, winked, and stalked right into Will’s personal space, sliding his hands up Will’s neck to frame his face.

 

“You sure about that?” Derek asked, lips quirked into a smirk. Chris was definitely _not_ breathing harder at the sight of the two of them together right in front of him.

 

Will’s expression sharpened and his eyes glinted. “I’ve been in love with the both of you since I was fourteen. Yes, for the love of God, kiss me.”

 

Derek did, leaning in slowly and making sure to glance Chris’ way as he did. Impatient, Will surged up to meet him, startling Derek into making a truly inappropriate noise as Will kissed him with _fire_. After only a moment, however, the kiss gentled, and Derek sighed softly, relaxing into it. His hands hadn’t yet left Will’s face.

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Chris said, letting out a breath.

 

Will broke off the kiss, taking a deep breath and looking up at Derek with wide eyes. Then he cut his gaze to Chris. His expression was a bit glazed, but he beckoned Chris to them, and Chris went happily. Will wasted no time in igniting Chris with another devouring kiss, while Derek leaned in and pressed his lips to the line of Chris’ neck.

 

They all broke apart some interminable time after that. Chris was breathing heavily, and his lips were hot and bruised. He grinned, dropping his eyes, not quite able to meet his--his _boyfriends’!_ \--gazes.

 

“That was….that was _awesome_ ,” he breathed. “Let’s do that again!”

 

They left the horses to graze and traded kisses in the empty field all afternoon, until the sky darkened and the wind picked up. Realizing they needed to get back to the keep, and quickly, they started rounding up the horses, but Derek grabbed both their hands before they could get too far away.

 

“I’m going to make sure this works out,” he promised them both.

 

Will surprised Chris and Derek both by shaking his head. “No,” he told Derek. “No, we _all_ will.”

 

Chris had no doubt about that.

 


	3. Chapter 3

That winter, the winter they all were eighteen, was the best that Derek could remember. It wasn’t just due to the kissing, either--although that was certainly a highlight.

 

Although the LaCrosse contingent still showed up every year, regurgitating the same bad attitude and tired taunting, Chad himself was nowhere to be found. When asked, Will had just shrugged and said that Chad had been spending a lot more time in his own, and was probably off doing his “experiments”.

 

“Honestly, I haven’t the slightest, but I kind of worry about the rat population in general,” Will told them, looking relatively unconcerned. “He’s weird, okay? And the less time I have to spend with him, I consider it the better.”

 

They were ensconced in one of the training forges on the castle grounds. Although it wasn’t what anyone would consider to be clean, the forges _were_ warm, and Will had been apprenticing the weaponsmith for almost three years now, between his regular duties as part of LaCrosse staff. Master Mayhew had been sad to see him leave the stables, and still let Will--and by extension, Chris and Derek--take out some of the horses without having to ask permission, but everyone recognized the talent that “that Poindexter boy” had with the forge.

 

Derek was ten kinds of proud of him, and both he and Chris were more than happy to lounge in the corners of the stone cell that were furthest from the door, watching Will sweat without a shirt on.

 

“Okay, try the balance on this one,” Will directed Chris, using tongs to pass him what looked like, to Derek’s untrained eye, a lump of metal that was vaguely dagger-shaped. Chris picked it up with a leather glove, and then extended a finger, where he balanced the dagger-thing on it’s side. The dagger-thing wobbled for a moment, then evened out, sitting right at the seam where the unfinished blade met the guard.

 

“Whoa, it’s _perfect!_ ” Chris enthused. “I want this one, can I have it when you’re done? Wait, no, wait, can you make me a _sword_?”

 

Will laughed, looking faintly pleased. He scratched the back of his head, which did interesting things to the muscles of his abdomen. Derek wasn’t staring, though. “I”m not there yet. Maybe when you make knight, I’ll make craftsman.”

 

Clearly done with the impressed look that Chris was giving him, Will snatched up the dagger he was working on and threw it back onto the anvil.

 

“Chill, Poindexter,” Derek directed him gleefully. Will whirled immediately, scowling. He opened his mouth, probably to tell Derek to shut up, but Derek barrelled on. “We both just think you’re super hot and talented, no reason to get bent out of shape.”

 

The color Will’s face turned was absolutely not from the heat of the forge, and Derek and Chris exchanged a look full of meaningful eyebrow raises as Will sputtered.

 

Best. Winter. Ever.

 

* * *

 

 

That, of course, made it even harder for Derek when everyone left in the spring. He had turned nineteen a few weeks before, earlier than the other two, and was therefore expected to suddenly be a part of _everything_ when it came to running the kingdom. Derek was irritated, lost, and confused, shuttled from meetings to audiences without much of an understanding of how things worked, except for the Commerce Committee. He’d thought himself lucky that his parents had left him out of so much of court politics--but if they expected him to suddenly be _good_ at any of this, they were sorely mistaken.

 

He was so caught up in the day-to-day anxiety of his new responsibilities that he had _almost missed Will and Chris leaving_.

 

He had jogged down to the training grounds, expecting to find his friends in the middle of duties or maybe taking a break. He had meant to talk to Adam about the work he’d been taking from his father on currency regulation, and if he found Chris or Will in the process, it would be a bonus.

 

Instead, the training grounds were empty, and the rumble of hundreds of horses milling and the shouts of a whole camp on the move echoed from the fields below the keep. Lines of people and caravans were already moving away.

 

Heart sinking, Derek dashed, still in his good boots and his circlet, out of the castle gates and skidded down the long hill to the camp fields.

 

Will and Chris were waiting for him, mounted already but lingering at the edge of the chaos, both conspicuously far away from their holdings. The horses tossed their heads anxiously, and Chris was peering up at the castle as if he expected to see Derek somehow upon the walls.

 

Instead, Derek made an incredibly undignified entrance, panting as he ran down the looping paths that snaked down from the hilltop. Will saw him first, but deliberately did not move to meet him, waiting instead until Chris spotted him as well before nudging his horse to trot over.

 

“You’re--leaving--?” Derek asked inanely, breathing hard but resisting the urge to bend over and put his hands on his knees. It had been some time since he’d been able to play hockey with the Winter Camp, he reflected.

 

“We thought you knew,” Chris said, face creased into a worried frown. He jumped off his horse, and Will followed at a distance. Surprisingly, they both looked concerned, not angry, even though Derek felt his own sense of guilt that no, he hadn’t known.

 

“I--” Derek wasn’t sure what to head, then shook his head.

 

“You’ve had a lot of other stuff going on,” Will said gruffly, clearly troubled but not exactly angry. “It’s okay.”

 

Derek shook his head but couldn’t quite figure out what he wanted to say.

 

Chris’ frown slowly molded into a look of determination, and he peered over his horse’s back furtively. The animals were well-behaved, whickering but not moving much, and they provided a fantastic screen when Chris grabbed Derek by the front of his fancy tunic and kissed him swiftly. It was over in only a moment, but the kiss left Derek gasping. Chris had good hands, tangled in Derek’s clothing. He had good lips. He had a good face. Everything about Chris was just _good_ , and Derek was going to miss him badly.

 

“We’ll be back sooner than you think,” Chris promised, doing the thing that he sometimes did when he read Derek’s mind just a little too accurately. “I only have a few months extra that I need to spend with the armsmasters at Saint Joseph. You know that knights have to spend their first three years at the castle, right? I’ll be back by midsummer, and I’ll get to stay!”

 

Derek had known that, but it hadn’t _registered_ until right now. “Wait, really?”

 

Chris snorted. “Yes, _your highness_ , keep up.”

 

Derek’s eyes cut to Will. “But…”

 

Will shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’ll work on it, okay? I don’t think I can take an entire summer at LaCrosse anyway, not with Chad stalking around and dad trying to marry me off to the closest breathing human.”

 

Derek loved them both for trying, and he made a himself a promise that, somehow, by midsummer, he was going to sort out a way to keep them together.

 

Will sighed like Derek was just about the most annoying thing he’d ever had to deal with, and it made Derek grin right up to the moment that Will crushed their mouths into a bruising kiss. Derek was sure he tasted blood, but his smile wouldn’t stop, and Will just grunted,“Something to remember me by.”

 

They rode off not long after that, leaving Derek to walk back up to the keep alone, his good boots pinching his feet and his mind working furiously.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why does this feel weird?” Chris asked plaintively. He was curled into the window seat in Derek’s living quarters while Derek tried and failed to stop himself from pacing. “I mean, I know why, but _why_.”

 

Derek snorted. “Yeah, I feel it too.”

 

Chris had ridden up to the castle alone, in the depth of midsummer, head high and his father’s sword at his hip. Adam and Justin and Shitty were all due in the next few days as well, the graduating class of knights-elect ready to make their positions official. Chris had been immediately quartered in the squire dorm near the stables, and just as immediately had escaped to sequester himself in Derek’s room.

 

Derek had been overjoyed to see him and they’d spent a very pleasant number of minutes making out against the door of his bedroom.

 

But, like Chris had said, it was...weird.

 

“I miss Will,” Chris said.

 

“Yeah,” Derek agreed again, unhappy but not sure what he could do about it. He was so glad to have Chris here--in the castle, in his _space_. He wanted to keep Chris here forever, not let him go back to the squire dorms. He wanted Chris at his side. But it wasn’t right with just him. They needed Will, too.

 

Giving into his more dramatic instincts, he crossed to Chris to lean against him as he peered out the window at the sun setting over the ramparts. The sky was a striking orange, bleeding down the gradient of gold until it hit the fields, the light gilding the edges of the main road that headed up the hill.

 

“.... _No way_.”

 

Chris’ head jerked up, almost banging Derek under the chin. “No way what? You _don’t_ miss him?”

 

Derek almost laughed. “No, more like ‘no way, the universe does _not_ have this sense of humor’.”

 

But it absolutely did, because Derek had spotted a grumpy shock of red hair, galloping astride a familiar horse, as he approached the castle.

 

By the time that Will got to Derek’s rooms, the sun was fully set, and a warm gray darkness had spread out across the world like a blanket. Will wasn’t given a chance to get a word out, instead being happily dragged inside by an enthusiastic Chris, who pushed Will down on the divan in the center of the room and straddled him immediately. Chris didn’t kiss him yet, however, apparently content to keep Will trapped so that he could talk a mile a minute.

 

“You made it! How did you get out here? Why did they let you? Is everything okay? Derek and I really missed you and--sorry, I know I’m squishing you, should I get off--?”

 

Derek snickered as Will’s hands shot out to wrap around Chris’ ass, keeping him firmly in place. “You’re fine,” Will grumbled.

 

“Yeah he is,” Derek agreed, leaning over the back of the couch to smack a wet kiss to Will’s stubbly cheek.

 

Will made a big show of wincing away, but there was no mistaking his easy blush.

 

“Looks like I got noticed--the royal armsmith asked for me specifically. Said he could finish out my apprenticeship, if I’d spend more than just the winters in Castletown.” Will twisted his head to narrow his eyes in Derek’s direction. “This didn’t have anything to do with you, did it?”

 

Derek wished he’d thought of it, honestly. “Not this time. But if you find yourself made an Earl sooner rather than later, well…”

 

Will relaxed fractionally, only to tense up again. Derek loved being able to do that. “We’re talking about that later.”

 

“Yes, yes, later, but right now can we _not_ talk?” Chris asked, which was ironic.

 

“Is the inquisition done?” Will replied, laying his forehead against Chris’ and smiling, belying his words.

 

“Nope,” Chris said thoughtfully, “One more question.”

 

Then, of course, because he was an _enormous dork_ , he kissed Will. Derek would definitely have chirped him for the line, but he was too busy staring and trying to regulate his own breathing. Sliding onto the divan beside the other two, Derek gave into his urge to slide his fingers up to overlap where Will was still very much groping Chris’ butt. He relished in the half a gasp that Chris breathed into the kiss. Derek’s other hand came up to card through Will’s hair and stroke it back once, twice, a little bit of affection that Will never allowed outside of their rare moments of intimacy. Will made a sound suspiciously like a purr, and Derek took it as encouragement to continue touching his boyfriends. He’d _missed_ them these last few months.

 

Eventually, Chris broke off the kiss, turning his narrowed, dark, heavy-lidded eyes on Derek instead. He reached out for Derek, and Derek let himself be pulled in. Chris kissed without reservation, skilled but without an edge of control, taking what he wanted and trusting Derek and Will to give it to him. As Derek leaned a little harder against him and Will, he felt the unmistakable movement of Chris hitching his hips against where he was still straddling Will’s lap. Will, now that his mouth was free, was making tiny gasps with every thrust.

 

Derek pulled away breathlessly, giving into a thought that he’d held secret against his chest for months. “Bedroom?”

 

He’d expected the startled doe-eyes from Will, but the man only nodded repeatedly, tapping at Chris’ hip to get him to move. Chris was the one who was frozen, looking at Derek but not quite seeing him.

 

“Chris?” Will asked. He looked at Derek for help, and Derek was _trying_ , but it had taken all his courage to even offer. “We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” He reached up to lay one broad hand against Chris’ face. “Honest.”

 

Chris shook himself, blinking rapidly. “Oh, no, I _really_ want to. We’re really--oh, man, yeah, _yes_.” He scrambled off Will’s lap so fast that he almost shoved a knee somewhere that would have killed the mood really quickly.

 

He paused only briefly at the door to Derek’s bedchamber, grinning over his shoulder. “Come on!”

 

Will smirked up at Derek, standing and blatantly groping Derek through his breeches before following Chris’ orders.

 

Derek paused to lock his door, and by the time he joined the boys in his bedroom, the sight was enough to derail any nervousness he might have harbored.

 

The sight left him properly in _awe_. Will was spread out on the bed already, chest bare and flushed bright and hot with arousal and vulnerability. He had been the first to disrobe, but only because Chris had gotten _too_ excited and got tangled in his trousers.

“Oh, wow, okay, like I’ve seen you both naked before and everything, but this is different—doesn’t this feel different?” Chris asked even as he finally stepped out of his pants and stripped off his shirt. Derek couldn’t answer because his mouth was too dry. There was Chris’ ass, right in front of him, and he could—he could just look. He could look all he wanted because Chris _wanted_ him too, and he could touch it too, couldn’t he.

And Will was making a surprised, pleased noise as Chowder leaned over him in the bed and kissed him thoroughly, running his long fingers across Will’s bare shoulder. Derek envied those fingers their journey. He wanted to run his hands all over Will’s flushed skin and heat it even higher, map every freckle, wrap his grip around Will’s half-hard cock rising from its thatch of shockingly-bright curls.

Oh wait. _He could_.

 

Chris grinned up at him from where he was kneeling by Will’s head. Derek could _see_ the moment his eyes heated—all because he caught sight of Derek. Chris _bounced_ on his knees.

“Get over here, _please_ ,” Chris begged, beckoning.

Derek smiled, then outright grinned as Will reached over and put his hand on Chris’ cock. Chris _yelped_ , sinking onto his heels and throwing his head back. Derek was able to see the long line of this throat and the tight cut of his pecs and abs and—

\--and then he had crossed to the bed and had his hands _all over_ Chris Chow.

Derek was pretty sure he had never been this hard in his _life_ , and he’d just spent six months making out with the two hottest boys in the kingdom. There was a difference, however, between the fervid, rushed frotting against convenient and inconvenient walls, and having both his walking wet dreams naked on his bed. It was immediate and yet unreal, slick and yet rough where hair and stubble raked against the insides of his biceps and thighs.

Somehow he and Will eased Chris down onto the bed and both leered over at him, jointly fascinated by the blotched flush that bloomed down his chest, the dark wetness of his eyes. Derek exchanged a heated look with Will, who nodded with a filthy grin. Derek ran his hands through Chris’ sweat-slick hair, down his neck, stroking the backs of his hands down Chris’ throat and mouthing at his jaw-bone, kissing the pulse behind Chris’ ear.

Will’s hand was back on Chris’ cock, and out of the corner of his eyes, Derek could catch a glimpse of Will’s long, blunt-tipped fingers as they worked Chris over, alternately stroking and running his nails through Chris’ sparse pubic hair.

And the _noises_ Chris was making. His chest vibrated beneath Derek’s lips as he made a sound that might have been classified as a whimper.

“Guys—I--!” Chris tried, but Derek nipped at his collarbone and will lowered his mouth to Chris’ cock.

That was all it took. Chris’ whole body convulsed, and he thrust up into Will’s mouth. Will’s eyes widened and he made a strangled noise, but held on gamely as Chris came, shaking and shuddering.

Will pulled off and made a face, his eyes watering, but Derek was being held in place by Chris’ fingers wrapped around the bicep of the arm he had braced on the mattress by Chris’ head. Derek hummed contentedly, hoping to sound soothing, as Chris looked completely overwhelmed. His cheeks were blotched red and his chest heaved slowly as he came down.

“No fair,” he whined quietly. “You guys cheated.”

Derek snorted, although he found himself a little breathless as well, watching the way Chris came apart. “Cheated at what?”

“I ‘unno, but it was cheating,” Chris maintained.

Will wiped the back of his mouth and the color of Chris’ flush had nothing on the deep red that covered his whole face. Chris, who was starting to focus again, grinned fairly smarmily up at Will. “Come here,” he beckoned.

“ _What_?” Will demanded, looking even more mortified, if that were possible. “No, let me wash out my mouth, there’s no way you—“

But Chris had already surged up to grab Will by the back of the neck and drag him into a truly filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue and _mauling_ , with a steady hunger that didn’t seem possible for Chris Chow to harbor—oh, but how he did.

And _Will_. Derek had never seen the man back down from a single thing, even when he very much should have. Now, however, he had completely given into the hands on his face, tipping his head back just enough to bow his spine as he and Chris knelt on the bed and Chris ravished him. Derek’s hand drifted to his own insistent erection, sliding over it slowly a he watched the display.

When Chris finally pulled back, it was with a stifled gasp and a mischievous grin. Will’s eyes were wet, his pupils blown. “Chris,” Will said breathlessly. “Y-you—“

“If you think I don’t know what my cum tastes like, then you had a _very_ different puberty than I did, Chris asserted, still grinning.

Will let out a noise from the back of his throat, and that was when Derek _finally_ got the idea. Honestly, it was embarrassing that he hadn’t seen it earlier.

“You definitely wanna be fucked,” Derek blurted, then fought the urge to wince as Will turned his horrified gaze on him. Derek didn’t take it back, though, because he was definitely _right_.

“I—“ Will stammered, but couldn’t quite figure out what to say.

Derek frowned. “Dude, chill, it’s okay, we don’t have to _right now_ , I just meant—I mean, you totally want to be fucked and held down and filled up, don’t you? You liked it when Chris got all dominant with you. And now that I think about it, that last time I pressed you up against the wall in the training yard you totally almost came in your pants.”

Will just kept staring.

That’s really hot, you know that, right?” Chris pressed, sliding his hand down from where it had still been pressed against Will’s cheek to follow the sweet line of his throat, rubbing soothingly over one shoulder.

“Oh _god_ ,” Will muttered.

“It’s too late, babe, we know you too well,” Derek said cheekily.

“Oh _god_ ,” Will repeated at a slightly higher pitch. “Will you both please, _please_ , shut up?”

But this was _fun_. “Why don’t you _make_ me, William of Poindexter?” Derek dared, then went down hard as he was tackled onto his back and kissed into submission.

Derek was happy to let Will control the kiss, happy to take the tongue and teeth that were proof that Will’s blood was up. He had a different goal in mind, and no one could say that he wasn’t a strategist, despite his disinterest in chess. He ran his fingernails lightly down Will’s spine, relishing the shiver he felt in their wake, tracing patterns and changing direction at a whim but slowly, inexorably moving downward. Will was clearly none the wiser—until Derek reached his destination. Distracting Will with one hand coming to tug at his hair, Derek’s other hand slid down to Will’s ass, slipping his fingers in to rub gently at Will’s entrance.

Will jolted, making a noise that might have tried to be words, but Derek tugged harder at Will’s head and demanded he continue the kiss. Will sank back into the kiss, but this time his hips sank against Derek’s and he thrust gently in time with Derek’s teasing.

“Oh _boy_ ,” Chris breathed from further away than Derek would have liked. “I’m gonna find—It’s gotta be here—got it!”

Derek didn’t bother investigating the clinking noise that followed. He didn’t need to—Chris was back in only a few moments from wherever he’d disappeared to, and he knelt behind Will on the bed. Slick fingers pressed against Derek’s; Chris had found the mineral oil that Derek kept in his boudoir. He would be lying if he’d said that Derek hadn’t _hoped_ that they’d eventually use it for this purpose, but so far it was only used for his hair.

Will was the last to figure out what was happening, and he only realized when Chris’ fingers were knuckle-deep inside him. He cried out and bucked desperately against Derek, hard enough almost to be painful, but not quite. Their cocks slipped together, by accident rather than design, but the feeling of the boy falling quite apart on top of Derek did it for him anyway. As Chris delightedly worked on seeing if he could find Will’s prostate, Derek took hold of Will’s hips and controlled their thrusting so that it was less likely to hurt.

Derek had never felt anything like this—the loss of control that was putting his pleasure into someone else’s hand, and yet the endless surprise of someone else’s skin on his. Will was completely lost, pulling out of the kiss to make the most decadent noises as Chris took him relentlessly. Derek’s skin felt too hit, his muscles too tight, and the heat that crawled up into his belly took him completely by surprise.

“ _Ngh!”_ Will had completely given up on words by the time he came against Derek’s skin, trembling and whining. Derek imagined what it would be like being _inside_ Will the next time he came like that, and then he was done—he came with a shout as well.

There was unmistakable sound of someone jacking off, somewhere outside of Derek’s field of vision, but only moments later it was clear that Chris had definitely come again, and he slid down to lay on the bed next to where Derek was laying and where Will was slowly crushing him into the mattress. Derek shifted so that Will rolled down into the space between his and Chris’ bodies, and they all laid there for several minutes, regaining their breath with various degrees of difficulty and all trying to process what had just happened.

“Holy shit,” Will was the first to say, voice ragged.

“Your sheets are totally fucked,” Chris said unapologetically. He shifted to throw one leg over Will, his arm across Will’s shoulder so that his fingers just brushed Derek’s arm.

“I’m not worried,” Derek said, recognizing that his own voice had bottomed out. He was going to hate himself in a few hours when they all woke still sticky and covered in oil. For now, though, there was a big warm pile consisting of the two people that Derek loved most in the whole world, and all either of them wanted to do was lie next to Derek. That was what mattered right now.

He managed to shift the crumpled, slightly damp duvet off the bed, and maneuver the bedsheet so that it draped more or less over all three of them. Then he rolled over onto his side, throwing his own arm over Chris’ and bracketing an already-snoring Will.

“Love you,” he muttered, mostly into the pillow. There was no response from either insensate man, but Derek didn’t need one. He was happy just to feel this warm, this safe, and this content with two people who wanted him, he knew, just as badly.

 

* * *

 

 

Will didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss or kill Prince Malik, but it was leaning pretty close to kill at this particular moment.

 

“You could just come up to my rooms,” Derek repeated for probably the twentieth time in the last fifteen minutes as he lounged pointedly in Will’s doorway.

 

Will had a perfectly serviceable room to himself in the craftsman quarters, just outside the keep walls. Granted, Will didn’t _see_ the rooms very often, being as he spent most nights not-quite-sneaking into the prince’s bedchambers--no one said anything, but everyone _knew_. Still. Will had principles.

 

“I’m tired and dirty and I’m neither going to bathe nor screw you tonight,” Will grunted, flopping down onto the straw mattress in the corner and hiding a wince. After six weeks at the castle, he was starting to get used to the feather bed in Derek’s room, but now was not the time to admit that to himself. “So what use would it be to go up there?”

 

Derek frowned. “I haven’t seen you in like a week.”

 

“Because for the last week I have been tired and dirty and not in the mood to either bathe or screw you,” Will argued, debating on whether or not he was too old to start throwing pillows. He needed to get up and open the shutters soon; it was hot as blazes in the little cell. He should also actually go looking for something to eat. He just...didn’t have the energy. “Listen, the armsmaster is getting serious this week, and he’s working me harder than usual. I’m _exhausted_.”

 

Derek’s mouth twisted into something bitter and disdainful. “Is that really all you see us as? Just...come find us when you want to screw?”

 

Will groaned, concluding the pillow was better used to suffocate himself rather than as a projectile. “Derek,” he said seriously. This was not going well and it would be great not to have to make eye contact.

 

“Can’t hear you,” Derek snapped.

 

Will lowered the pillow reluctantly, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be pissy,” he snapped back. “You know that’s not what I meant. But what the hell would you get out of it if I showed up at your door like a beggar, and immediately went to sleep on your couch? Because that’s what I’d be doing.”

 

“Then come sleep on my couch! I’ll even feed you. Just--Will, it’s like you’re hiding, and we--”

 

“Did you find him?!”

 

Of course Chris would bound into the room. Will didn’t need to open his eyes, either, to know that Chris was _bounding;_ he didn’t seem to do anything at any slower a pace. He was caught by surprise, however, when a huge weight dropped onto the mattress right next to his head. He was even more surprised when he found himself pulled into a brief but messy kiss. Alarmed, he sat up fast, almost knocking heads with Chris.

 

Chris blinked for a moment, then his eyes widened. “Oh. Oh, see, I know you said that I could kiss you whenever I wanted now as long as we were in private, and I didn’t need to ask anymore, but I think maybe this was one of the times that I should have asked anyway.” He grimaced. “Sorry.” Then: “I just missed you.” He dutifully scooted back on the bed to get out of Will’s personal space which was...actually the last thing that Will wanted. It was hopeless--just a hint of Chris’ warmth, his scent, was enough to drain Will’s self-control. He’d missed Chris--and Derek--too.

 

“No, it’s fine,” Will grumbled. “I--I missed you too. Um.” He looked up at Derek. “Both of you.”

 

Chris looked relieved. “Is it bad to be happy about that? I kind of thought you were avoiding us. And maybe you needed your space? I was trying to tell Derek you needed your space.”

 

Derek, still in the doorway, rolled his eyes. “And I was trying to tell you that Will was being a big baby about something else. And--” Derek’s eyes narrowed. “And I think I know what it is.”

 

Will tried not to let his stomach swoop with that ominous announcement. He knew he wasn’t particularly good at dissembling, nor was he particularly proud of his behavior, but Derek couldn’t possibly know what it was that was bothering him. It would be mortifying; Will _knew_ he was making a big deal out of nothing more than what he should have expected. He needed to get his head on straight on his own, not bring all his bullshit to lie at Derek and Chris’ feet.

 

“I was just saying that I was tired, C, that’s all. I didn’t want to just...pass out on you two. And I know you both work really hard, so maybe you wouldn’t want _me_ in your space all the time, especially since I can’t really offer you anything right now.”

 

“Offer us?” Chris asked, clearly struggling. “Will, you’re the one who is working the hardest out of all of us. I was hoping maybe I could drag you down to the baths, and like, you look like you could use a massage, and--”

 

“You’re sulking about the tournament,” Derek accused bluntly.

 

Will had no idea what his expression looked like, but he knew it was probably pretty incriminating. “No--” he tried to protest, “no, it’s a really good idea, but--”

 

“But you don’t like it,” Chris surmised, his smile finally collapsing into an upset look.

 

Will _didn’t_ like it. Which wasn’t fair at all. It was a perfect plan, or it had seemed that way.

 

Derek had come whirling into his rooms a week ago, a raincloud over his head and vitriol in his mouth, after a dinner with his parents. Chris and Will had been playing chess for almost two hours waiting for him, and they were so engrossed in the game that they had almost missed his announcement:

 

“They want me to get married,” he groused. “Soon.”

 

The King and Queen of Castletown hadn’t even cared _who_ Derek married, as long as they were vaguely socially suitable. The point wasn’t the spouse, it was the stability. An unmarried heir of ruling age was a liability and had the potential to be a weakness for a kingdom. The King and Queen had no interest in using their son as a political pawn, thank God, but neither did they want the hassle that came of leaving Derek to his own devices.

 

“Well. I’m going to.”

 

That was about the moment that Will had felt the bottom had dropped out of his world; like he was falling backwards but never quite hit the ground.

 

“But...who?” Chris asked, his voice wobbly. Will knew what he was thinking. Chris might have been the son of a powerful noble, but he was the third child. No prince would be permitted to marry that far down. And Will knew that as far as _he_ was concerned, he was no better than the dirt on Chris’ boots.

 

Derek didn’t look even a little worried, though. “A knight, of course.” Chris’ concerned look deepend.

 

“Knights are too far down the social ladder,” Will pointed out, feeling numb.

 

Derek scoffed. “Not if they have acclaim--kingdom-wide acclaim. Acclaim for doing something terribly heroic. Heck, I could even marry a fisherwoman if she was famous enough!”

 

“I don’t see how that solves your problem,” Will argued. He knew his voice was coming out cold and wooden, but he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. He’d known...well, he’d known that it would come to this at some point. He couldn’t be at Derek’s side forever. But he’d thought, at least, that they’d have a little more _time_. “Even if you could find someone that _famous_ \--and really, what legends do we have around here except for that two-headed calf in Alemanie--you’d still be marrying a stranger.”

 

“No,” Derek insisted, a light in his eyes and a grin on his face. “Because we’re going to have a tournament.”

 

The plan, it turned out, was a lot more clever than Will had thought to hope for. Derek had convinced his parents that he’d marry, and swiftly, but only the knight who won the tournament that they would hold at the castle that winter.

 

“And who else is going to win the tournament,” Derek had said excitedly, “but our very own Sir Christopher Chow?”

 

Chris had blushed and stammered, which part of Will thought was utterly charming. It was a _good_ plan, because everyone-- _everyone_ \--knew that Chris was on track to do great things. He was unmatched on the jousting pitch, even against those who had been knights for as many years as Chris had been alive. And a third son of a lord might not be much, socially, but a kingdom-renowned knighthood on top of that pedigree? Now that was a spouse worthy of a prince.

 

But that was just it. _Chris_ was a worthy spouse for a prince. And Will didn’t delude himself into thinking that Chris and Derek would just suddenly...drop him. He knew they loved him, and he knew they  meant well.

 

Still--the difference in their stations was gaping. And when Chris and Derek really did get married--properly, in state--would Will always be their unfortunate hanger-on?

 

And so, yeah, maybe he had been avoiding the two of them for the better part of this week. But here he was, the son of a servant now _barely_ clawing his way up as a scorched and singed craftsman. And he hadn’t been lying so much as prevaricating--the armsmaster was working him very hard, he really _was_ dirty and tired, and if he couldn’t even offer these men his attention and his body, what use was he really?

 

Here and now, back in his tiny rooms in the craftsman quarters, Chris’ eyebrows were bunched up and an expression of extraordinary concern like only he could pull of was plastered firmly across his face.

 

“I was afraid this was maybe the problem,” Chris said. “Do you want to be the one to do it? To be in the tournament? You can, I don’t mind.”

 

That blind faith that Chris had, that Will would be just as good in the tournament as him, that he’d win with no trouble--it reminded Will of the day they’d all confessed, all fallen into this crazy, wonderful, horrible, tangled relationship together. Chris had been full of faith that day, too. His only concern had been if Will and Derek were _happy_ , convinced that as long as they _wanted_ it, they’d succeed. On anyone else, Will might have called it naivety. On Chris, it had just been his pure and blinding hope, one of the many reasons that Will couldn’t--didn’t want to--live his life anywhere but at his side.

 

In this case, though, all that hope was unfounded.

 

Will made a frustrated noise, getting up to pace before realizing that the only direction he _could_ pace in the narrow room was straight towards Derek. He stopped in the middle of the floor instead, hands curling into fists, face flaming. “C, that’s nice and all, really, but--well, come on, guys! It’s one thing if _you_ win the tournament. You’ve got a good family, you _are_ someone. But if it were me...even if I wasn’t terrible with lances, it wouldn’t matter how well I did. At the end of the day I would still be some...some dirt-scrabbler who doesn’t belong with you two!”

 

Will’s voice had risen until he was shouting so loudly that he felt his throat go dry and scratchy, the burn of frustrated tears he wouldn’t let fall gathering behind his eyes. Chris gaped at him in the ensuing silence.

 

Derek made the first move.

 

“Okay, cool, so, now that you’ve finally told us what’s going on instead of running off on your own to sulk,” Derek said, stalking across the room and right into Will’s space. He grabbed Will’s shoulder with one hand, his hip with another. “We can start fixing this nonsense.”

 

“Not helping, Derek,” Chris said, a little shakily. Will already felt horrible for yelling at him, hating that, as always, the people he loved ended up being hurt by his own lack of control of himself.

 

“Helping a little,” Derek argued mildly. “Now, Will, I got two things to say, and then if you want to continue with your hissy fit, you can go ahead.”

 

Will was furious, but he found himself unwilling to pull away, too caught up in how _good_ it felt to be held again. He slid his gaze to the far wall, however, unable to look into Derek’s heated, dark eyes.

 

“First of all, you’re being really stupid about your worth in this relationship, okay? If you think we’d rather be without you than have you snoring all over the furniture but still _in our lives_ , then you’re dead wrong. And I’d say that the only person that you’re hurting with your damn attitude is yourself, but actually it hurts me to not have you, and I’m pretty sure it hurts Chris, too--right, C?”

 

Will shivered as Chris came up behind him, plastering against his back and burying his nose right at the nape of Wills neck, where his face always ended up when they cuddled together for sleep.

 

“We just missed you,” Chris said, voice muffled.

 

“You don’t _understand_ ,” Will pleaded, not mad anymore, just hurting. “Maybe not to you two, but to everyone else--I’m _nothing_. This can all be taken away from me. And I believe you both--I do!” he protested when Derek didn’t look convinced, “but you are not the only ones I need to prove my worth to. Eventually, someone is going to worry why a smith’s apprentice is spending so much time with the Prince and his consort. Eventually they’re going to come for me.”

 

Derek had slid his hand down Will’s neck and was sliding his thumb up and down Will’s throat. “Which is why you gotta listen to the second part of what I wanna say, okay?”

 

Will swallowed heavily, feeling the pressure of Derek’s fingers on his throat.

 

“So once I’m married, right, I get a lot more of the powers that a monarch gets. Most of them, actually; I just need to defer to my parents on big state decisions. But I have two really important powers, right? First, kings can take other spouses”

 

Will let out a strangled noise, “Yeah except no one has done that in like a hundred years and your...other....spouse would _still need to be a noble_.”

 

Chris made an excited noise over Will’s shoulder though. “Oh! Oh, I forgot--Derek, when you’re married and are a proper monarch, you can grant titles, can’t you?”

 

“Got it in one,” Derek said, and his smile was so gentle and assured that Will felt a little weak at the knees. “Will, I get it. This doesn’t solve everything. This is all so fucking--I don’t know, new, and fucked up, and hard, but I’m trying my best to keep us all together. I promised I would, didn’t I?”

 

Will laid his head down on Derek’s shoulder and covered Chris’ hands on his stomach with his own. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You did. And I didn’t say it out loud but I promised I would too. And I haven’t been.”

 

“You just got scared,” Chris told him. “That’s just normal stuff. It’s not bad.”

 

“I’ll keep you safe,” Derek said in Will’s ear, and Will was warm and surrounded and for that moment really believed that Derek could. He’d never felt safer than he did right now, after all.

 

“...sorry, guys,” Will finally sighed.

 

“No need to be,” Chris promised. “Let us put you to bed, and we’ll call it even.”

 

And even though Will had to be up at dawn the next morning, he could spend the night with these two men and if he really, truly feared losing them for good, then why would he ever deny himself the moments of happiness that he could steal before that?

 

Chris giggled, breaking the moment. “Hey, do you know what this reminds me of?”

 

“What, C?” Will asked, voice muffled into Derek’s shirt.

 

“Like those frogs that hang out next to the pond in the springtime when it’s still cold out and all pile on each other for warmth.” Chris let out another giggle, a wild, almost helpless sound. “ _Frogpile_ ,” he whispered in glee.

 

Will started laughing and he couldn’t make himself stop, and all three of them found themselves on the floor almost five minutes later, catching their breath and wiping their eyes and not sure what had happened but knowing it had been good. It was a pretty good metaphor for his life, Will thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Chris knew it was kind of exhausting to hold bad feelings about people, which is why he generally decided not to do it. It was one thing to be sad or angry or hurt, but to just...keep it there, feeding it? That just made him feel sick and tired; it wasn’t worth it.

 

Except, then there was Chad.

 

Chris had hated that kid from the moment they had met at Winter Camp. His stunt on the ice that had formed Chris, Will, and Derek’s friendship had been just the tip of a horrible iceberg. For years it had been just bullying, mostly Will, but as Chad had gotten older he’d gotten more...creepy. For the past few winters, he had spent most winters holed up by himself--in the library, in the stables, in the basements of the castle. Will had reported he’d done that at LaCrosse as well, and that he would find strange smells or grotesquely twisted bodies of rats and other castle pests strewn around Chad’s ‘work areas’.

 

He’d also gotten even meaner, not even bothering to hold onto friendships except for the most stalwart of the LaCrosse kids. There was something that was just...almost dangerous about him, and Chris hated every time he’d had to watch Will ride away to be alone for another year at LaCrosse.

 

Chris had thought that, at least now he’d never need to do _that_ again. Apparently he had been wrong.

 

“I should have gone with him,” Chris said quietly, leaning over the parapet on the walltop and watching Will and Chad ride away. “Forget the final knighting ceremony. I should have _gone with him_.”

 

Derek shook his head, but he looked just as upset. “Will’ll be back in a few weeks, you’ll see. He’s gotta do this, but everything will be fine.”

 

Chad had shown up in the middle of the night, just the night before, bedraggled and soaking from an early autumn storm. The man’s hair, always just a little too long and cut just a little off-center, had been soaked and clung to Chad’s head like a helmet. His blue eyes were crazed with something more potent than sleep deprivation, and he’d kicked up a fuss until Derek had been woken by his steward--who professionally didn’t bat an eyelash at the other occupants of his bed--and told that his _and_ Will’s presence was necessary in the Audience Hall.

 

It had been bad news from LaCrosse. Will’s older sister, who had been heavy with child when Will had left, had reportedly given birth to a very sick daughter. The baby did not have long for the world, and if Will wanted to meet his niece, he should come immediately.

 

“Your family needs you,” Chad had said with an edge to his voice that had sounded almost like metal and rust. “I came as a favor to your family; they thought you could use a friend at your side on your way back, and your family has provided _such service_ to ours throughout the years.”

 

Will had barely winced at the thought of three days on horseback with Chad, his whole mind immediately on his family. Chris, who had absolutely followed the other two down to meet Chad, had been flooded with cold panic at the horrible news, and had teared up even though he knew Will wouldn’t.

 

“I have to go,” Will had told the other two, wild-eyed, as soon as they were ensconced back in Derek’s rooms.

 

“Of course you do,” Derek agreed. “What do you need from us?”

 

“I--” Will had shook his head, flailing his arms a bit until Chris acted on instinct and grabbed one of his hands. Will gentled fast, like a skittish horse. “Just...I’m not running away. You know that, right?” Their fight, only a few days before, had really spooked Will, Chris could tell.

 

“No, you’re doing what you need to do to take care of your family!” Chris had argued. “We know that. It’s okay, Will.”

 

Will twisted their twined fingers so he could kiss them gently, a show of affection he did not normally give into. “I’m coming back, as soon as I can.”

 

“You do what you need to do at LaCrosse,” Derek told him, grabbing Will’s other hand in both of his. “We’ll wait for you.”

 

Will had taken off the very next morning, and only as he rode away did the cold feeling in Chris’ gut morph into something closer to _suspicion_.

 

So Chris threw himself into his training. It’s something he did a lot, when his brain thought he was done processing emotion but his heart decided to hang on with it’s fingernails. This time, the emotions were twofold--worry for Will, and a persistent, simmering hatred for Chad de LaCrosse.

 

Both he and Derek felt Will’s absence keenly, even within the first few days. They had only just gotten their relationship back on an even keel, but then to have Will disappear from it once again--this time by circumstances so terrible that it made Chris tear up on more than one occasion just thinking about it--was hard on everyone.

 

Derek had passed Chris in the training salle only that morning on the way to some meeting or another, and had told him, “Well, at least Will should be home safe by now.”

 

By noon, they found out that they had been very wrong.

 

It was a travelling circus caravan, of all things, that had come with the news. While the proprietors had begged audience of the King and Queen in an offer of their services, Chris had gone to the actors and crew to see what news he could glean. He was hoping for some word of Saint Joseph, but instead the Head Stage Manager, Leah Ford, a girl only about his age with a strident yell and soft eyes, had broken the news of the greatest excitement that the caravan had ever heard of.

 

“The heir to LaCrosse is _missing_ ,” she told him in a hushed tone that was equal parts theatrics and real thrill. “He and a manservant were riding back to the holding, they say, but--they never made it. Something _horrible_ happened on the road. We passed it! A circle as wide--as wide as this wagon, here, at least--was blown out of the trees, gouged out, like with claws. But the claws would have to belong to a beast three times as big as a horse, four even! And then the whole clearing was surrounded by charred earth, in a strange spiral pattern. Their horses were in _pieces_ , their belongings strewn everywhere.”

 

“Why do you talk about ‘horse pieces’ with such relish?” one of the other actors groused. Ford ignored them.

 

“And--” she looked around dramatically, as if afraid someone was listening in, “--there was no sign of Chad de LaCrosse or his servant.”

 

Chris took off running to the royal audience chamber.

 

* * *

 

 

Will came to in the dark.

 

He wasn’t sure if this was the first time he’d woken up--he had flashes in the back of his mind of heat and pain, gilded glimmers like sunspots, and a deep rage that wasn’t his, taking control of his blood and making his limbs heavy with it.

 

This was, however, the first time he had woken up _that he could remember_ , and that he was in full control of his faculties.

 

He immediately wished that he wasn’t.

 

It had happened so fast--Chad, who had been eerily on his best behavior for the first two days of the journey, had stopped the horses for the night and had--

 

Something. He’d done _something_. Will couldn’t remember what, but next came pain and fire, the smell of smoke and smelting copper. His vision had swum, his insides twisted. His organs expanded, contracted; his eyeballs swelled. Will remembered yelling, remembered falling to his hands and knees. He remembered, over it all, that same rage dragging at him, not his but running through him.

 

Staying in his fetal ball seemed like a good idea, but there were rocks digging into his skin. Where was he? The ground felt cold and rough, but natural, and from the sound of the way his breaths echoed, the room was big. It wasn’t truly dark, either--light was filtering in from the far end, where a low door and a grate were gouged out of the rock. That was right, the walls were rock, Will finally saw. He was in a cave. He could hear, now, the sound of water trickling down the walls; maybe there was a pool of it somewhere.

 

His eyes were adjusting fast, and it was clear from what he could make out that there wasn’t much else in the cave--a few low rock formations, the expected pool of water in a corner nearby. The cave was almost as big as the training grounds at the castle.

 

His head hurt, a pounding headache as well as the stinging pain of the gravel that he’d been lying against. With a groan, he sat up, clutching a hand to his temple--then snatched his hand back when that hurt _even more_. It felt like needles gouging into his skin; he could feel blood start to trickle.

 

Alarmed, he squinted at his hand in the low light. His eyes had adjusted even more, more than was normal, but that wasn’t nearly as concerning as the fact that _he had claws_.

 

A wordless yell escaped his mouth, and he flailed wildly, wiping his hand reflexively on his thigh as if he could rub away what he was seeing. There was a sound reminiscent of rock scraping against rock, accompanied by an unnatural friction against his skin. Glancing down, he yelled again. The backs of his knuckles and wrists, the insides of his thighs, and whole swathes of the rest of his skin, were all completely covered in dense, chitinous scales of some light color. He was naked, but as uncomfortable as he was, he wasn’t cold.

 

He leapt to his feet, his first instinct to _get away_. But how could he get away from the horror that his own body had become? His feet flexed strangely, and he caught sight of even longer claws on his feet.

 

“Oh gods…” he whispered shakily, trying to clench his fists but instead piercing open his palms. He was trembling now, completely overwrought, needing to _not be here_. Slowly, he brought his hands to his face again, desperate to at least feel whatever other changes had occurred.

 

His hair was still there, he could feel, but just behind his temples, right where the headache throbbed, two sets of blunted horns jutted out of his skull. There were more scales on his cheekbones, his throat, his collarbone. And his _teeth_ \--he bit his lip and tasted blood as sharp canines made themselves known.

 

He rushed at the only source of light, the cave entrance. His first assessment was right; a thick-barred, grated door blocked the exit. He shoved at the bars anyway, yelling the only thing he could think of:

 

“ _Chad!”_

 

“Oh? You’re awake?”

 

The familiar voice came out of the shadows, like he had been there all along and just waiting to gloat. Chad stepped into the flickering torch-light in the hallways beyond the grate.

 

He wasn’t wearing travelling clothes anymore, instead dressed like he would for a day at court. At his throat was a huge, gaudy pendant, a flat circle that shimmered a deep amber. It was carved deeply with sigils and runes, and glimmered menacingly.

 

Chad noticed him notice it, and Will was hit by a sick hammerblow of recognition. Chad had pulled _this_ out, right before the pain had hit him.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Will hissed, trying to rattle at the bars on the door. They stubbornly refused to be moved.

 

“Ah, now that would be _telling_ ,” Chad laughed snidely.

 

“What did you _do_ to me?!”

 

Chad sniffed. “An experiment. I’d like to think it turned out quite nicely.”

 

“You bastard, that’s not--”

 

“I’m no bastard!” Chad snapped. “I don’t think that you have room to insult anyone’s parentage, William of Poindexter. Don’t forget your place. No matter whose cock you take, they can’t fuck good breeding into you.”

 

Will _howled_ , shoving his arm outside of the bars in an attempt to grab Chad, to strangle him. Chad jerked back with a yelp, but he was too far away anyway.

 

A thought even more horrific than his current situation struck him. “Did _you_ hurt my sister and her baby?”

 

Chad had the nerve to snort. “Your sister is fine. I just needed an opportunity to reclaim my dogsbody, and you fell for it so easily! It’s almost as if you were too _stupid_ to know otherwise.”

 

Will’s vocabulary deserted him. He threw himself against the bars, yelling curses against Chad’s family and virility and health, daring him to fight him. Chad watched it all with a level of hungry amusement, but said nothing.

 

“They’ll be looking for me!” Will yelled. “Everyone will!”

 

Chad’s smirk deepened. “That’s an unoriginal line, Poindexter. Everyone _thinks_ they have someone coming for them, but really--in the end, what is one less smith’s apprentice? Especially to the prince. You might be in bed with him, but if he has that knight at his side as well? Well, who really will win _that_ fight for attention?”

 

“It’s not a _fight,_ we _both_ \--”

 

Chad carried on as if he hadn’t heard Will. “Besides, I _hope_ they come looking for you. I’m not worried at all. After all--I have a dragon.”

 

With those words, he spat into his hand and slapped it against the pendant on his chest.

 

Will’s knees dropped out from under him and he hit the ground hard. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Chad making gestures with his opposite hand, and he felt parts of his body jerk as he did. Fingers flicked to the left--so did Will’s left leg. Fingers to the right--Will’s right arm. But the feeling of being thrown about against his will was nothing compared to the overwhelming onslaught of pain and pressure. Will could feel his insides _collapsing_ , heard the sick snap and crunch of bone, felt the inflation of his organs. He yelled, but after a moment his throat thickened and the high, reedy sound deepened into something that resembled a roar--

 

\--and it was a roar, a bestial noise, made by a beast itself. When the pain ebbed and Will rolled onto all fours, he did it, not with his own body...but with a dragon’s.

 

A stream of fire leapt out of his mouth and towards the grate, but it never made it that far. There was a sensation of enormous fingers wrapping around his equally enormous neck, and the fire choked off. Chad stood at the grate, his left hand raised into a claw like he was the one that was doing the choking. Will stared down at him helplessly from a great height.

 

“That’s it,” Chad crowed. “I hope they look for you! Because then I will show them what I can _really_ do!”

 

* * *

 

 

Chris had trained and fought and sweat and bled for his place in the world. His sword was an extension of his arm; his jousting was bar none. He could wrestle in the ring with even the most grizzled warrior and come out having held his own. Christopher Chow could _fight_.

 

And yet, here he was, helpless because there _was_ no enemy. There was no one for him to fight. Will was gone and there was _nothing he could do to get him back_.

 

It didn’t stop him from trying, though.

 

“Any good knight needs a quest,” he’d said to Derek, his smile weak and wavering as he’d tacked up his horse, Sharky. Derek, Chris, and a host of other knights were camped just outside a small village somewhere between Castletown and LaCrosse. “I can go places you can’t go, and...and you can go places I can’t.”

 

As soon as Chris had passed on the news almost two months ago now, and the minstrels and corroborated it, Derek had laid out his distinct plan to the king and queen. It was under the guise of returning the heir of LaCrosse and so had met with blessing--the crown prince, under heavy guard, would go to investigate the disappearance. It was creeping into winter, now, the air frigid and frost creeping around the castle, but the Winter Camp was subdued from it’s usual revelry, all clearly effected by the tragedy at LaCrosse.

 

However, Derek was still indeed a monarch, and while he might be leant the resources of a kingdom and the deference that befit his station, Chris realized that there were other places, darker and more distrustful ones, that a prince would not be welcome. They would need to split up.

 

He _hated_ it.

 

All Chris wanted to do was cling to Derek and not let go. He wanted to be wrapped up in Derek’s arms and have the other man’s nose in his hair or pressed into his neck and he wanted to feel Derek’s heart beating, because the other piece of their tiny microcosm was _missing_ , and it killed Chris to be leaving the only one he had left.

 

“You shouldn’t be going anywhere that I can’t follow,” Derek said darkly, his eyes going sharp and possessive.

 

Chris loved that look on Derek in bed, the way his gaze would roam over Will and Chris with a deep, smug certainty that what he was looking at was _his_. Now, however, all Chris could see was the desperate edge behind the possessiveness, and the clear fact that Derek did not want him to leave his sight.

 

It was precisely the crack’s in Derek’s armor that gave Chris the strength to pull away. Chris could be strong for his men. He had to be.

 

“We have to exploit any advantage,” Chris told him, quoting from his strategy lessons. Then his tone gentled. “For Will.”

 

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, and for a second Chris was afraid that Derek might cry. He wasn’t sure if he could hold it together if Derek started crying.

 

“For Will,” Derek whispered, gutted.

 

Knowing the rest of the camp was politely Looking The Other Way, Chris leaned in and stole a kiss that lingered just a little too long to be furtive. Before he could talk himself out of it, he swung up onto Sharky and began to ride away.

 

He had only just swung around a bend in the road when the thrumming began.

 

It was a deep sound, a vibration that was not so much heard as felt in the chest. Seconds later, a swift darkness passed over the sun as if a cloud had blocked the light, and a whistling rent the air. Chris’ head shot up as Sharky reared, whinnying in a sharp way that battle steeds were surely trained not to do.

 

A dragon was flying across the sky.

 

It was huge, surely twice or three times the height of a horse. Chris could tell it’s size, the deep amber color, even the number of claws on its huge forepaws, because the dragon was _close_. It sped over the top of the snow-covered trees with a squeal of rage, blasting fire carelessly in its wake. It was headed right for the camp that Chris had just left. It was headed for _Derek_.

 

Chris had no idea what sort of noise he made in response, but his throat was raw and his chest was on fire as he wheeled Sharky and sped back the direction he had come. A ball of dread sank into his stomach at the sheer dumb horror of it. A dragon headed for the prince, his prince, and Chris had left him vulnerable.

 

Surely the other guards could handle it. Surely they would not let--

 

But the scene in front of him was chaos. The camp was burning; everything that could be set aflame had been. The horses were gone except for Justin’s, and he was hard pressed to keep all four of the animal’s hooves on the ground, much less stand against the beast. The others had their swords drawn and were attacking the dragon, but the creature was knocking them aside with long sweeps of its armored tail. Drawing closer to is prize, it reached out it’s long front talons to pluck Derek’s sword from his fingers.

 

Derek, bless him, stood his ground--back straight, teeth bared, eyes blazing. Chris shouted for him, but he could not be heard over the sounds of people and horses and _horror_.

 

Chris took in every detail of the next few seconds. The slow, ponderous, almost hesitant way that the dragon reached for Derek himself. The way the talons shook, just slightly, fraught with tension. The hooded figure perched on the dragon’s back, nestled between its wings, their hand outstretched in a parody of the dragon’s claws. The resigned terror in Derek’s eyes as the dragon wrapped it’s claws delicately around his waist--and took to the air.

 

Chris knew he screamed then, but he was too far away. It didn’t stop him from throwing himself off a balking Sharky and running desperately to the place that Derek had last been.

 

He had been wishing so hard for one thing he could do, something he could fight. But when the moment had come, Chris had lost both loves of his life in one fell swoop. Derek was gone, borned away by the dragon and it’s hooded rider.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _I’ll kill you!”_

 

Derek hit the ground and rolled, dropped delicately to a cave floor deep inside a mountain somewhere far, far from Castletown. He was shaking, cold, and sore from the interminable flying, but he scrambled to his feet anyway and faced down the dragon. Somehow, the long flight clenched in its grip had made him less afraid of it, not more. The dragon clearly did not want to hurt him--yet--or he would have simply crushed or dropped him and that would have been that.

 

The danger, it seemed, was the hooded man on the dragon’s back. As Derek stood, the man slipped from the side of the dragon, hitting the ground with a small stumble but righting himself quickly. As the man advanced toward him, Derek balled his fists, ready to defend himself--but all the man did was stop several feet away, content, it seemed, simply to startle Derek.

 

“Throw him in your cage,” the man barked at the dragon. Derek frowned, the cadence of the voice much younger than he expected--and also somehow familiar. Derek braced himself to be scooped up once again, but the dragon did nothing more than slowly shake its head back and forth. Its gaze, which had been piercing but devoid of much emotion, now seemed to reek of malevolence as it rested on Derek’s captor.

 

The man didn’t seem intimidated, however. He simply shrugged and gestured and the dragon. The dragon roared, a sound that was pained more than angry. It thrashed its head pitifully, twisting and coiling, before shaking itself all over like a dog and obediently reaching for Derek with its front claws again. It picked Derek up almost gently, nudging him only a few feet to the left into a doorway he hadn’t yet noticed. The man smacked the wall, which caused a row of bars to fall in front of him, pinning him inside what resolved itself to be a small, darkened cell.

 

With a dramatic flourish, the man threw off his hood just as Derek threw himself against the bars.

 

“ _Chad_ ,” Derek whispered in horror.

 

He should be surprised, perhaps, but it just made too much sense. He’d known that Chad would be trouble for him in the future; he just hadn’t thought it would be at this time or in this way. But if Chad was alive, then--

 

“Where’s Will?!” Derek demanded. “What did you do to him?”

 

The dragon made a horrific noise, at once a snarl and a whine, and Derek’s eyes widened as the thought struck him.

 

“Hmm, Will?” Chad pretended to think. “Oh, my _stableboy_? I’m not sure why you might care, your highness, but, well…” Chad trailed off. “If you want to know what happened to him, I’d ask the guards and horses my little beast here just set afire in his haste to capture you. After all, you saw what he can do.”

 

The reports of the charred remains where Chad and Will had first been reported missing—they’d found the pieces of the horses, could they have missed…could they have missed Will’s body?

 

“No!” Derek yelled, kicking ineffectually at the bars around him, horrified and pleading. “You didn’t, you can’t have killed him. He’s still alive, he has to be!”

 

Chad hummed thoughtfully and gestured to the snarling beast at his side. “Ask the Dragon. Do you think he would have left _anyone_ alive? Which, by the way, I hope you weren’t attached to your guards either. I think we left your camp a bit of a mess.”

 

The guards. Adam and Justin and Oliver and-- _Chris_. Chris _and_ Will—both in danger, and Derek had no idea if either of them had made it out. Surely, surely they were stronger and more clever than Chad. Derek just had to believe in them.

 

Derek took a deep, deliberate breath and pulled every scrap of control he had around himself. He wasn’t in danger—yet—and what he was faced with now was a battle of wills. From Minders to his parents, to the commerce council, and his own boyfriends, Derek had learned long ago how to hold his own. He drew himself up and stared at Chad with as much disdain as he could muster.

 

“They’re going to come for me,” Derek promised, burying his concern until all that was left were the scraps of his _chill_ , his sure flippance that he knew ranged from annoying to infuriating. He was counting on it. “And then you’re going to die, probably painfully, because Chris might be nice but Will isn’t, and the rest of my guys are going to be pissed as hell. What do you even think you’re getting out of this, anyway? How could you possibly be rewarded by kidnapping a prince?”

 

Chad smirked, “You really have no imagination. Ransom? Land? I’m not far down in the line to the throne, either, you know, and with you out of the way I’m even closer. But that’s not the worst of it, _Derek_.” He fisted the pendant at his neck, brandishing it. “Blood magic is a powerful thing, powerful enough to control a dragon.” The dragon in question roared in counterpoint to the claim. “And this with the blood of a common serving boy. Do exercise your imagination as to what _royal blood_ could give me.”

 

The dragon’s head whipped around and it took a huge, ragged in-breath. Without looking, Chad threw out his arm in a cutting gesture, and the dragon wheezed and reeled, pedalling it ungainly way backward, whining like a kicked dog.

 

“I have things to prepare, but don’t you worry about me, Derek,” Chad told him. “I’m sure I will absolutely get my effort’s-worth from you, sooner rather than later.”

 

He turned dramatically on his heel and strode out, gesturing the dragon after him.

 

It was convenient that Chad’s exit coincided with about how long Derek’s knees could reasonably be expected to hold him upright, and as soon as he was alone, he sank to the cold ground. There wasn’t anything in the cell but a bucket that Derek could guess the use of. It didn’t look like he was meant to stay here for any length of time.

 

 _We’ll always come for you._ It was almost embarrassing, how much Chris’ earnest, whispered affirmation had meant to Derek all those years ago, when they’d rescued him from his tower. Derek had kept that promise in his heart, during the interminable summers when it seemed that the air would never turn cold and the Winter Camp would never return. But Chris and Will always had, even this year when Will had fought tooth and nail to become the smith’s apprentice so he could stay at Chris and Derek’s sides.

 

But Derek had made promises, too. He’d promised to protect Chris and Will, and now both of them--could be dead. Will almost certainly was.

 

“Oh god...Will…” Derek whispered, curling into himself and scooting against the far wall of his cell. “Please be okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

Will could hear the sounds of Derek by turns sniffling and raging from where he had been forced into his own, larger cell and left for the night. Chad, looking suddenly shaky and strained, had released Will from the spell as soon as he had been sure that Derek could not hear. Chad had seen an opportunity to make Derek suffer, and had taken it.

 

For his part, Will had tried yelling anyway, calling for Derek, promising that he was alive and okay and he’d get them out soon, somehow. But although he could hear Derek, Derek couldn’t hear him--even with the spell released, Will still retained the claws and the horns and the scales, and apparently preternatural hearing as well.

 

“I’ll be back soon,” Chad had promised dismissively. “Some of the ingredients are time sensitive, you know. But soon the spell will be ready for us to add the Blood of Kings.” He paused, a grin spreading across his features like the slow creep of rot. “I wonder if the blood becomes even more powerful if spilled by one the sacrifice loves.”

 

“I’m not going to let you hurt him,” Will growled, rising to his feet just to feel a little more in control.

 

“ _I’m_ not going to,” Chad promised. Will felt the blood in his veins go ice-cold.

 

Chad was only gone a few hours, but it was long enough for Will’s brain to chase itself in panicked circles. He wouldn’t let Chad make him hurt Derek. He _couldn’t_. Will knew--he knew he was a rough man, had a temper. He’d hurt both Derek and Chris before.

 

But he’d held off Chad today, hadn’t he? When he’d had to grab Derek, and torch their camp, Will had done his best not to attack anyone directly. He _knew_ Chris was alright; he hadn’t let Chad direct his flame in Chris’ direction.

 

And Chris would come for them, their knight in shining armor. Will just had to protect Derek as best he could until Chris got there.

 

Still, it didn’t help the terror, the hurt, the complete loss of control that reasserted itself when, not long later, Chad strode imperiously to his cell, smelling of mold and must and dead things.

 

The man was distracted, fingering the pendant almost absently as he pulled Will outside and then dragged him through his transformation. “Six years of study of the arcane, and finally I find myself ready to use the most powerful spell in the Grimmoire,” Chad hissed, mostly to himself. “Kings are well and good, but their power only comes from subjugation. And if someone more powerful comes along, they, too, must fall.”

 

Will took a deep breath, expanding his now-huge chest, and tried very hard to concentrate.

 

Derek scrambled to his feet as soon as he heard Will and Chad coming, and Will’s heart ached to watch a detached mask slam down on Derek’s features.

 

“Didn’t think you’d actually have the balls to carry out your threat,” Derek sniffed, and Will wanted to throttle him, just for a second, for purposefully provoking Chad. He bit it back, though--he needed to focus.

 

Chad barely noticed the display of defiance. He palmed the part of the wall that would open the cage, and flicked his fingers so that Will had to reach out and grab Derek in his claws once again. Chad then gestured over his shoulder, beckoning them both back down the torch-lit hall hewn into the rock, and Will shuffled ponderously, three-legged, after him.

 

They filed into a room that Will had not yet seen, and it was just as horrifying as he had imagined Chad’s inner sanctum could be.

 

There was so much _death_ , the smell of it filling Will all the way to the top until he was drowning in it. Carcasses in various stages of wanton decay hung from the walls on ropes, or were nailed to boards--headless rabbits, skinned foxes and stoats, frogs and fish floating and bloating in jars. Mouldering herbs were thrown haphazardly into cups and vases, and piles of organic matter that stank of blood were heaped around the many worktables and benches. In his claws, Will felt Derek gasp.

 

The reaction was lost on Chad, who strode to a spindly cage atop a crowded table and pulled out a squeaking mouse by it’s tail. With no thought or pause, Chad twisted its head until its neck snapped, then twisted harder, until it was completely decapitated. The head, Chad threw into a cauldron that was bubbling in the center of the room, an oily smoke skimming it’s roiling surface.

 

“It’s all complete, and now that the boiling has begun, all I must do in the next few minutes is harvest the blood,” Chad said, finally turning his attention to Will and his prize. “Drop him.”

 

Will did as he was told, and Derek wasted no time in running for the door. Will was proud of his quick-thinking, but even the moment of surprise didn’t help him—bars just like the ones on their cells hissed out of nowhere, summoned by yet another hidden switch in the walls, stopped Derek’s progress and locked him in.

 

Will made a pained noise, especially as Chad gestured that he go after Derek.

 

“Dragon, I will not need him after this is complete. Use your _teeth_.”

 

Immediately, Will’s jaw began to ache and his mouth began to water. The compulsion was thick in the air, and he burned with the need to obey. It would stop _hurting_ if he just gave in, if he killed the warm, trembling rabbit in front of him and was done with it.

 

The prey before him clearly would not go down without a fight, however. It crouched, fists up, heart trembling, eyes flashing—  


Eyes.   


Derek’s kaleidoscope eyes, the gold highlights and deepest green lowlights on brown. Will had not ever taken much time to catalogue fussy details like eye color in the past, but he had caught himself—and been caught—time and time again just staring at Derek or Chris, taking in every little detail that he couldn’t help but love.  


He wasn’t going to hurt Derek. He wasn’t.   


The compulsion on him was strong, a power like fire running through him with the promise that, just as soon as Will obeyed, there would be relief. Will did not obey. It was all he could do—he could not turn, could not fight back—but he could held himself perfectly still and try to ride the waves of pain that were now carving patterns under his skin.   


“I said to kill him!” Chad repeated, clutching the pendant tighter, his face contorting in concentration.   


The compulsion ramped higher, and this time Will could not even hold still as his limbs shivered out of control. Instead, he thrashed wildly, fighting each individual muscle strand as Derek looked on in some combination of terror and confusion and painful hope.   


Will’s thrashing grew wilder as he felt his thin control slipping into the insensate whirl of what was being done to him. He was banging into the walls of the room, workbenches and tables, toppling shelves—  


Clang!  


The dull pain of smacking into something huge and solid gave way to the sharper sensation of heat, and Chad let out a shriek. The boiling cauldron careened wildly to one side before overbalancing completely and spilling its rancid contents across the floor.  


Immediately, the compulsion on Will ceased as Chad screamed his outrage and ran over to his ruined potion. Will felt his unfamiliar limbs falter, and he sank to the ground at Derek’s feet.   


“How dare you!” Chad demanded.  


“Holy shit,” Derek breathed, just a touch too loud.   


“Oh, I’m not done with you yet, you aren’t safe from me!” Chad’s eyes were unfocused, his snarl unhinged. Gathering up a jar from one of the toppled workbenches, he hefted it and hurled it at Derek. Will was too slow and too weak to stop it. It shattered onto the floor, emitting a beam of light so stark and bright that it stunned Will and left Derek to fall to the floor, unconscious. Will tried to scramble to his side, but Chad flung out his hand again, this time squeezing.   


Will could fight a compulsion, but there was no effort of will that could stop his throat from closing up, and it wasn’t long before lack of air felled him, too. He tried to move his head, to use the last of his strength to summon fire, but instead he faltered and his head crashed into the dirt.  


Cussing and spitting, Chad kicked at Wills side and Will only realized belatedly that his body was shrinking, when his ribs started to ache. There was the sound of a scuffle, grunting and swearing, and when Will finally summoned the ability to open his eyes, h saw Chad dragging Derek’s limp body to sprawl in a chair, binding him roughly   


Taking in his work, Chad growled discontentedly, dealing Derek a nasty back-handed blow. Derek groaned, his head jerking sharply.   


Will had known anger all his life, but this went deeper than anger. It hurt him, this feeling, rippling through the protective emotion he was projecting outward.   


Without planning to, Will tried to scramble to his hands and knees, but his ribs throbbed and he ended up only halfway there. Still, it gave him enough leverage to lunge for Chad’s legs.   


Derek was—Derek was kind and clever, whip-smart, a good leader, and he cared so much for his people. Derek was loving and wicked in bed. Derek was Will’s to protect and Chad wasn’t going to hurt him any longer.

  
He managed to drag Chad away a few feet, but the effects of resisting the spell were taking their toll. His muscles were all throbbing out of sync, not quite able to obey Will’s orders.  


Chad didn’t have to bother with his compulsion, not that it worked on Will when he was human. Will was too weak to fight back as Chad took him by the arm and dragged him to the middle of the chamber, tossing him into the still-steaming puddle of rotting spell-matter.  


“Just—because—you ruined it--!” Chad yelled, eyes wild and kicking at Will again. Most of the blows caught him in the ribs before he was able to curl to protect them, but one got him squarely in the face and the hot explosion of pain in his eye socket radiated like shards of glass. “Doesn’t mean—I can’t try—again!”  


Chad was breathing in pants now, is shoulders high like an angry dog’s. Then, with a wild, frustrated cry, he hurled a kick borne of pure anger, intending only to cause as much damage as possible. Will brought his hand up to protect his face, but it caught at the wrong angle and bent his first three fingers with a crack.   


He hadn’t yet made a sound, but at the unexpected viciousness, Will couldn’t help but let out a scream from behind clenched teeth.

 

“I’ll return soon, and this time nothing will stop me from the fresh blood of kings!” Chad shouted, then opened the bars on the chamber just long enough for him to slip out. Then they closed, locking Will and a bound Derek into the work room together.

 

Will let out the groan that was sitting heavily in his stomach, now that there was no point in pride. It didn’t matter, did it, that he was technically unbound—they were still well and truly trapped, and Will didn’t think he had the strength to even get up, much less do something useful.

 

Behind Will came a sound of a shifting body, and a low curse. Adrenaline flared through Will’s limbs unexpectedly—as relieved as Derek’s wakefulness made him, his first reaction was fear.

 

“…what the—Will!”

 

His name was shouted breathlessly, and Will squeezed his eyes shut, curling himself tighter. He couldn’t turn around.

 

“Will! I knew it, I fucking—Will, baby, fuck, are you okay?”

 

This wasn’t happening; Will couldn’t handle it. His breath came raggedly, and he still couldn’t make himself answer. He _knew_ he should, should square his shoulders and take the anger and the hurt that was coming to him. As soon as Derek put the pieces together and realized that Will was the one who had—who had kidnapped him, brutalized him. Will hadn’t been strong enough to stop Chad even from the beginning, and how sad was that? One sniveling bully had been enough to take Will down and force him to hurt both the people he loved most.

 

Even worse, Will still looked hideous. He’d discovered that even when Chad released the spell on him, he still retained pieces of the dragon form. The vestigial horns, the patches of scales, the long claws—all were, though not disgusting in a traditional sense, truly _wrong_ in context. The feeling of fangs inside his mouth, if he concentrated too long, nauseated Will by the sheer fact that they should not _be_ there.

 

Knowing that Will had used those fangs against Derek was a blow that shook him, but even worse was the uncertainty of what he might have done to Chris. He’d done his best to redirect his fire, but he couldn’t know for sure—

 

“…Will?”

 

Derek’s voice had dropped, his volume low and his words gentle.

 

“Will, honey, can you please look at me?”

 

Will hated all the pet names that Derek gave him. He never seemed to give any to Chris; it was always just “C” or, when they were all fucked-out and blissfully sappy, sometimes “love”. Will, though, had always been “hotcakes” and “cutie-pie” and every other frustratingly ridiculous name that Derek thought could elicit a reaction.

 

This wasn’t like that, though. Derek’s voice was so fragile and so serious and Will didn’t know what to do, but he did know that if he was going to spend the rest of his life knowing that he’d betrayed Derek, he wanted just one moment, just one more, where Derek looked at him softly and with love. His time was rapidly running out.

 

So, with a pained noise, he levered himself over just far enough so that he could roll and face Derek instead, trying to memorize every moment of expression on his face.

 

Will almost chickened out when he saw the shock register, watching Derek take in every detail. He wanted to close his eyes, but he forced them to remain open, even though his left was starting to swell.

 

“Oh, Will,” Derek said. “How badly did he hurt you?”

 

Will did close his eyes then. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

There was silence for long moments, then, “Will, can you come here?”

 

Will wasn’t sure if he could, but the question made sense. The ropes binding Derek to the chair looked tight, but if he worked at it for a bit, he thought he could get them undone with his claws. “I’ll—let me try. I want to open the bars, but Chad has it coded to only open for him, somehow. Even if you can find the right spot on the wall.”

 

Steeling himself against the pain—if he could anticipate it, maybe he could ignore it—Will slowly got to his knees, then into a crouch. It wasn’t so bad if he breathed shallowly and didn’t jar his ribs. Nothing felt broken, just beaten. It was only his eye that was really worrying him, his vision fuzzy and red-tinged. The cracked fingers were a problem, though—somehow, they hurt worse than everything combined, and were turning a startling shade of purple at the second knuckle.

 

Still, he managed to shuffle behind Derek’s chair as Derek sat perfectly still, and started to work at the ropes. It was slow going with only one hand, but what did it matter? They had nothing but time, until they didn’t, and there wasn’t any other choice.

 

He had to get Derek _out_ —and if he didn’t need to make eye contact, well, then, so much the better.

 

Will started with Derek’s wrists, which were bound tightly behind his back, the skin darkening as Derek’s circulation slowed. Will picked dutifully at the knots and then, when it was evident that they would not budge, he resorted to working at the individual threads in the rope with the sharp edge of his claws. He had to sit down on the floor, his thighs refusing to hold him and his chest protesting even sitting upright, much less crouching.

 

It was quiet for a long moment, then with a grunt, Derek turned over his hand and managed to snag Will’s wrist. Will froze as if truly trapped, reacting to how tight Derek’s grip was against his wrist bones.

 

“Will, what _happened_?” Derek asked in a low voice.

 

Will gritted his teeth. “Let go, or else I’m never getting these untied.”

 

“What does it matter, if we can’t get out of this room?” Derek countered, sounding frustratingly unbothered. “We have time, and this is more important.”

 

Of course it was. Will’s betrayal bore talking about. “Nothing is more important than getting you out of here.”

 

“ _Will_.”

 

But Will was done listening, and had gone back to painstakingly worrying at the knots. For once, possibly in his entire life, Derek left well enough alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Sure, maybe Chris should not have ridden off on his own, but he was absolutely frantic and it felt as though everyone was moving at glacial speeds. He didn’t blame them, of course—moving an entire corps of knights, some of which were injured or had injured horses, was an incredible undertaking—but that didn’t _matter_. He knew the direction that the monster and his rider had gone, and he was ready and able to chase them. There was no reason to wait.

 

He snuck out while everyone was still milling around post-attack. The only person who saw him go was Jack.

 

“Chris, wait!” the man said in a low voice. Chris looked around to make sure no one had noticed them, but Jack had obviously been trying only to stop him, not alert the rest of the camp.

 

Chris reluctantly reined in his horse, looking at Jack from the corner of his eye as he rode up. “I’m not going to let you stop me—“

 

“Wait, wait, Chris,” Jack placated. He was panting, his breath forming fog-patches in the sharp-cold air.. “I’m not.”

 

Chris was surprised. “You’re not?”

 

Jack was now close enough to clap him on the shoulder. “I’m not,” he repeated. “I’m—I’m sorry. I can’t go with you. We need to go back to Castletown and protect the king and queen. But—“ He nodded. “I can cover for you. I know why you need to go. I would make the same decision.”

 

Chris remembered that Eric was back at the castle even now. They’d arrived only a few weeks ago. For someone receiving a symbolic knighting only, Jack was determined to put in the same work that the other knights did, and had insisted. There was more than one reason Jack needed to return to Castletown.

 

Nevertheless, Jack’s words and the intention behind them were a gift that Chris wouldn’t take lightly. He’d harbored what had started as a crush and ended as a deep respect for Jack since they’d first met, eight years ago.

 

“Thanks,” Chris said softly, hoping Jack understood how much he meant it. He was pretty sure Jack would.

 

Still, Chris didn’t have any more time to linger. He needed to be on the road, and took his leave a final clap on the back from Jack.

 

It took Chris the better part of the day to realize even where he was going. He’d struck off in the same direction as the dragon, but as the night drew down upon them, he started to understand where his destination might be. Before him, what had started out as an indistinct line of hills resolved themselves into focus. They were much rockier than they had seemed from afar, riddled with indents and score-marks. There were even a few larger openings that could easily hold caves. Chris trusted the feeling in his gut that this was where the dragon had taken Derek—and possibly Will as well.

 

Even more telling, there was the evidence of the activity of a huge creature out in the snow that lay thickly over the hills. Patches of snow had been swept away wildly, and even more had been melted and then re-frozen into chunks of ice.

 

Chris rested for a few hours at full dark—reluctantly, and with restless energy, but the path was growing too narrow and rocky and slippery for him to trust Sharky on without light. The setback of losing his horse would be even worse than a few hours of sleep. Still, at first light, Chris was awake, having only barely slipped into sleep, and following the trail once more.   


Chris spent the blooming hours of the morning searching every fissure in the hills that could possibly harbor a cave, listening to the echoes inside them to determine if he should explore. It was just a few hours past a deceptively cold midday when he finally found one big enough to possibly hold whatever it was the hooded figure had planned for Derek. It was well-appointed—the mouth was wide and had an expanse of flat earth in front of it, as could possibly be used as a place for a large winged creature to land. There was a meandering creek that rushed out toward the mouth of the cave, veering off down the hill, and it was here that Chris hobbled Sharky and dismounted.   


“I’ll see you on the other side,” he said to the horse, patting him on the neck before drawing his sword and beginning his descent.  


It was apparent almost immediately that the cave was occupied. Slow-burning peat torches were tacked into the wall at regular intervals, sending great puffs of oily smoke toward the high ceilings. The walls themselves were rough-hewn and irregular, clearly natural, with very few improvements made. There were people here, but they didn’t seem to be planning on staying long.   


And then Chris saw the cells. There were at least a dozen of them, natural depressions in the rock that were barred by thick iron. His heart pounded with one glorious moment of triumph, sure he had found Derek at last—but they were empty.   


 

He also found no sign of the dragon, or it’s rider, which was puzzling and worrying in equal measure. Maybe he hadn’t found the right place. Maybe this cave was inhabited for some reason completely unrelated to the kidnapping and probable incarceration of the crown prince of Castletown…!

 

Of course, that’s when everything went sideways all at once.

 

Chris had gotten bolder as he’d gone along and seen no one, and by the end of the tunnel of empty cells, he was making no attempt to be stealthy. This, of course, was when a man came stalking from a tunnel Chris hadn’t seen yet which veered off of the man cave. The man’s arms were full of jars and vials and bags with vaguely unsettling-looking contents, and their appearance distracted Chris for a long moment before he realized who exactly was stalking toward him.

 

 _“Chad?_ ” he demanded as the man in question caught sight of him as well.

 

“I knew you’d come, but you’re too late!” Chad responded, dropping his ingredients haphazardly to the floor and belying his own prescience. Chris adjusted his grip on his sword. He had a very bad feeling about Chad’s presence here, but until the man attacked, he wasn’t going to be able to do anything to him.

 

Chad, in fact, never made a move toward Chris. Instead, he darted away, toward a much larger bank of bars than Chris had seen in the cave thus far. As Chad smacked at the wall repeatedly, Chris got a glimpse inside. It looked like a very, very large toddler had thrown a fit inside an alchemist’s workroom—glass vials were shattered on the ground, tables and benches were overturned, and crumpled pieces of parchment were shredded or crushed or soaked in various permutations all over the floor.

 

That, however, did not matter so much as the other contents of the room, which seemed to be Derek, tied to a chair.

 

Chris heart leapt—at first glance, Derek looked alive and relatively unharmed, although wan and wide-eyed.

 

“What did you _do_?” he demanded of Chad, but Chad seemed to have found the bit of wall he was looking for, and the bars slammed open as if on springs. Chris readied himself to dash inside, his focus already abandoning whatever Chad might be up to as unimportant, except that Chad had ensured Chris’ attention once again by clutching at his chest.

 

“ _Get him!_ ” Chad roared, and then, springing seemingly from nowhere and rising like a thundercloud from behind Derek’s chair, was a huge amber-colored dragon.

Chris was _ready_ for it, this time. He’d spent the whole ride building himself up for this one last battle. He did not think himself as skilled as Derek and Will had seemed to, but he knew that he had cold steel and a quick brain, and he _could_ defeat this dragon. He’d rescue Derek, and they’d find Will--not avenge him, that thought was too wrong--if he could only get his sword through this dragon’s heart.

 

He barely  noticed as Chad began backing away, because the dragon was stalking forward at his command. It’s head swayed and dipped crazily, its silvery claws flexing against the stone floor. Chris could smell the sulfur building in it’s breath. He positioned his sword in two-handed guard and crouched low.

 

“I will not be denied again!” Chad shouted from down the hall. “This will be _done_ at my command. _Kill him!_ ”

 

There was a movement of Chad’s hand, and the dragon’s head jerked forward in response, as if a puppet on a string. Chris lept back, ready to parry a blow or a snap of the jaws, but the dragon did not bite or even open it’s mouth. Chris did not think he could read emotion on a reptile’s face, but it looked pained, somehow, nevertheless.

 

Now that it was even closer, Chris could see that the dragon was in fact a bit worse for wear. There were gaps in its scaling, and it favored one front limb as it walked. The soft skin around one eye was discolored as if bruised, and the slitted pupil was darkened with red-brown blood.

 

The dragon paused its forward stalk, it’s head jerking again, once again a movement without malice. Then, it squared it’s great shoulders and stood still, trembling, right under the arch of the cell entrance.

 

Chad made a horrible noise, as if throwing his weight into some extreme effort, but Chris could only see his knuckles whiten as he gripped something at his chest tightly. The dragon lunged.

 

Chris lunged back. His reflexes would not be beaten by this monster. He held his sword straight, ready to stab the thing through the heart--but it was only halfway through the movement when he realized that the monster had lunged, not for _him_ , but for Chad.

 

“No! Chris, no, it’s _Will_!”

  
Derek _screamed_ , and that startled and appalled Chris so much that he fumbled his strike. It went wild, careening off the shoulder of the dragon instead, dislodging scales but not breaking skin.

Derek was pelting out of the cell, now, bits of rope falling from his wrists as he ran. “Get Chad!”

 

That was enough for Chris. He turned to Chad—but the man was gone, and the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor. Chris was ready to go after him, but the sound of the dragon stopped him in his tracks. He whipped back around, frustrated beyond belief that he couldn’t look _two directions at once_ , then stopped feeling but shock when he saw Derek crouching over, not a dragon, but a naked, beaten-looking man.

 

 _“Will_ ,” Derek was saying, hovering around but not quite touching him. There was a deep furrow in one freckled shoulder, bleeding sluggishly.

 

It took Chris a long moment to realize that he really was looking at William of Poindexter, there on the ground. He—he looked like Will, but for the obviously monstrous accessories. Chris could not quite believe, however, that both Derek and Will were there, and safe, and he had _found_ them.

 

He wanted to sweep them both into a hug, but Chris was seeing now that Will was very hurt, and Derek had a hunted look about him.

 

“Wait, I have something in my bag for that—“ Chris said instead, fumbling for his medical kit in the pack that hung around his waist.

 

“No,” Will grunted, then used Derek’s shoulder to lever himself to his feet. He stumbled momentarily, but stayed upright. “We need to get Chad. ‘N preferably his pendant,” he spat. “He has something really nasty planned.”

 

“Okay,” Chris agreed shakily, nodding. “Okay.”

 

He couldn’t hold himself back from one momentary slip, though. Darting in, he pressed one swift kiss to Derek’s cheek. Then, more carefully, he slid his head around the back of Will’s neck and kissed him on the temple, right below the strange, iron-grey horns.

 

“I’m so glad I found you,” Chris promised him, his lips against Will’s skin. Will closed his eyes, but otherwise didn’t react.

 

Chris released both his men, nodding before turning to run down the hall after Chad.

 

* * *

 

 

They were all running down a corridor that Derek hadn’t seen yet, for all his limited time in what he was beginning to think of as Chad’s Maze. Chris was in the lead, but Will was pounding after him, his breath hitching with his steps. Derek was terrified that Will was making whatever had happened to him _worse_ , but the truth was that Will had been right. They had to get Chad. They didn’t have time for anything—even the sharp and encroaching relief that he had both Chris and Will in his sights.

 

Derek might be in some kind of state of shock. He found himself calm—a true calm, not a cobbled-together façade—even though he knew he should be freaking out after this last dramatic twist. Will had been able to worry at Derek’s bonds just enough that he could break out from them in time to stop Chris from stabbing him in dragon form. He hadn’t even thought about his natural distrust of Will in that shape. He wasn’t going to let the man be in danger, nor make Chris live with accidentally hurting the missing member of their relationship.

 

Chad was leading them on a dizzying chase, down several twists and turns in the cave. Some had signs of life—torches and alcoves, a room that looked almost lived-in—but some had clearly not been touched since long before Chad had occupied the Maze.

 

Derek was starting to really flag—and Will’s gasps for breath were turning worrisome—when he felt a blast of cold air hit his face, strong and violent. They were almost outside.

 

There was an indistinct yell from before them, and the sound of a scuffle, and then Chris and Chad were in sight. Chris had almost grabbed Chad, but had stumbled. However, there was nowhere left for Chad to run.

 

In front of them was daylight, and a lake. The high slopes of frozen hills around them descended into a wide body of water, which was completely frozen over. It was as long as the entire castle grounds, but on the other side, just barely, Derek thought he could make out—a horse? It looked an awful lot like Sharky, and Derek thought that the other entrance to the cave might be on the other side.

 

And Chad was _going for it_. Without pause, the man had thrown himself onto the ice. It held him, but he was not going quickly. There was a lot to be said for proper skates instead of riding boots.

 

It was almost comical, if it weren’t such a serious situation. Chris had got a hold of Chad again, and was wrestling him for the necklace. Chris was good—very good. For a moment, he had Chad in a hold that was well on its way to knocking him out. Will gestured toward a ridge ahead of them that curled widely toward the lake—as he and Derek scrambled down, Derek saw that they could flank Chad if they did this right.

 

It was none too soon. Derek was on the south side of the lake now, Chad and Chris grappling in the middle, and Will scrambling down from the north. Chris jerked back with a yell; there was a flash of metal and his leg gave out from underneath him.

 

“Chris!” Derek yelled, trying to gain some sort of balance on the ice with leather soles.

 

“I’m—ow, I’m fine, get—there!” Chris was pointing, and beneath where he and Chad were sliding, trying to get to their feet, glinted the fallen pendant.

 

Casting around, Derek found the ice littered with debris that had fallen or had been blown down from the hills around it. There was a fairly large, sturdy-looking branch near Derek’s feet, and he grabbed it up, intent to go to Chris’ aid, and scooping the pendant off the ice as he did so.

 

“ _Drop it.”_

The voice was Chad’s but it was also _more_ , tinged with a coldness and rage that Derek had never heard another human being express. Derek whirled to face him and blanched when he saw Chad precariously balanced with his arm slung around Chris’ neck, a dagger pressed into his throat hard enough to draw blood. Chad’s face was twisted in some indefinable way, the snarl inhuman.

 

Chris looked _pissed_ , but he was also holding himself perfectly still, grimacing in pain as the dagger drew deeper and a line of red appeared, trickling down Chris throat.

 

Derek dropped the pendant.

 

For a moment, no one on the ice moved. Will stood on the north side, between Chad and the horse; Derek stood trembling on the south, watching the two men he loved in distress and able to do nothing about it.

 

“Now kick it to me, or this steel goes into his neck,” Chad promised, and Derek saw beneath the promise as well to the truth—Chris was dead either way, pendant or no. Chad wouldn’t be letting him go. Chris knew it too, and his eyes were as sharp and flashing as the dagger.

 

“ _Do it now!”_ Chad ordered. “It is the most powerful spell object ever known, and it _will be mine—give it to me now!_ ”

 

From behind Chad, Will gave the tiniest of nods.

 

Derek did not kick the pendant over. He hefted his tree-branch and he _shot it_ —the perfect no-look slapshot, right to Will.

 

Chad howled in rage and moved as if to finish Chris off, but Chris took advantage of the momentary distraction and brought all of his formidable knight training to bear. He got a hold of Chad’s arm and yanked down, not out, causing the knife to scrape shallowly over more skin but overbalancing Chad enough that a well-placed elbow to the ribs had Chad sprawling and Chris twisting to yank his arm into a lock behind his back.

 

Derek’s attention swung to Will. He’d intercepted the pass under one clawed foot, and then with the sounds of cracking bone and cracking ice, Will was a dragon once again, huge and terrible. Shrieking, the dragon scooped up the pendant in his jaws and bit down.

 

A whine like the vibrating of whole mountains rent the air, and a flash of light blinded Derek momentarily. He dropped onto his knees on the ice, blinking rapidly, and when his vision cleared Chad was gone, and Will was slumped, naked and human, on a patch of rapidly-shattering ice.

 

Chris recovered quickly and lunged for Will, and Derek followed his lead. Together, they dragged the insensate boy by the shoulders up off the ice, shuffling with him to the far shore.

 

Derek’s short cape was off his shoulders and around Will in an instant, followed by Chris’ more-practical travelling cloak. They all sank to the ground in a pile, Will slowly coming back to himself as Chris and Derek dropped to the ground on either side of him.

 

“W-we—“ Will coughed, sitting up, then curling around his knees as he shivered hard. He wasn't just human again, he was whole--his bruises and cuts had been healed with the rest of it. “We did it?” 

 

It was too much for Derek, right then, and somewhere in the back of his mind he was grateful that he waited this long to fall apart. Lunging forward, he grabbed Will hard and yanked him into his body, one arm around his neck and the other clutching Will around the waist. Will gave him his weight, falling into Derek and trusting him to hold him up, burying his face in Derek’s neck.

 

“Thank _fuck_ we have you back,” Derek breathed from where his nose was somehow pressed behind Will’s ear.

 

With more care than the other two, Chris came to enfold the both of them, his long arms grabbing any part of Derek and Will that he could reach.

 

They held each other, shaking, at the edge of that frozen lake, for longer than they should have, but no one wanted to be the first to let go. No one wanted to let go at all.

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t make it back to Castletown—it was only hours after beginning to pick their way down out of the hills that the knights found them instead. The joy on the men’s faces was gratifying, but Derek was most grateful for Jack. He’d always thought the man, as his friend, to be more serious and studious than most situations warranted, but now all Derek could do was _love_ him for his professionalism. Within moments of meeting up, Jack had Will and Chris whisked off to Justin in the field medic tent, and Derek ensconced in Jack’s own tent with a set of clean clothes and a dire warning not to come out until Derek had slept at least a few hours.

 

“I’ll send the others in after you,” Jack said shortly, seeming to keep back the exuberance of Derek’s knights—and friends—with force of will alone.

 

“I shouldn’t take your tent—“ Derek set up a token protest, even though he was absolutely dead on his feet.

 

Jack just shook his head and pointed over to a corner of the camp, where Eric was hovering near the medical tent. “I have other options.”

 

Maybe Derek was a tad overwrought, but the knowledge that all his friends had mounted a search for him brought tears to his eyes.

 

“We came as soon as we had secured the castle,” Jack promised. “Chad’s father showed up, told us everything he knew his son had been up to. There are blanks that I’m sure that you can fill in, but we were on the road as soon as we knew it was _you_ he wanted most of all.”

 

Derek nodded, clasping Jack’s forearm.

 

Two bedrolls had been laid out, placed side-by-side to form one large square, and Derek fell into the middle of it, scrubbing his hand over his eyes. He was so exhausted, but he wasn’t falling asleep until Chris and Will were back.

 

It didn’t take long. Will was leaning heavily on Chris, and Chris’ neck was a riot of clean, white, bandage, but both looked cleaner and all in one piece; someone had even found Will a spare set of boots.

 

Chris had shucked his boots in an instant and had plopped onto the blankets, but Will was standing over them looking lost and wrong-footed, weight balanced like he was getting ready to run. Derek reacted to the threat of flight without thinking, grabbing Will’s ankle and toppling him hard into the bedroll between Derek and Chris.

 

Instead of yelling, Will just lay still where he fell, shoulders tensed, eyes squeezed shut.

 

“Oh no,” Chris said, softly but firmly. “Whatever this is, it’s going to stop now.”

 

Derek was inclined to agree. “Will?”

 

There was silence for long enough that Derek was going to push, but then Will inhaled a shaky breath.

 

“I _kidnapped_ you,” he said, voice practically a whisper, words wobbling in a way they never, ever did. “I-I—he had me. _Controlled_ me.”

 

Chris made a noise of protest from Will’s other side, but Derek waved a hand vaguely behind Will’s back to cut him off.

 

“He held me for months and I did nothing to stop him as he planned to _kill you_. I lived as a _monster_ and he made me do anything he wanted. You—finding you wasn’t the first time he rode me. Yours wasn’t the first camp I burned.”

 

Derek did not _care_. “It doesn’t matter, what matters is—“

 

“Of course it matters!” Will yelled, scrambling up so he was sitting instead of sprawled on the bedroll. “All those things that Chad made me do _matter_!”

 

Chris crossed his arms and gave Derek a stink-eye. “What Derek meant to say was: we want to hear about everything. Every little thing. But that doesn’t make us love you any less. Not even a little.”

 

Derek winced. “Yeah. What Chris said.”

 

Will glanced at him out of the corner of his eye again, crouched and hunched and looking like he was ready to run.

 

Derek reached out for him—slowly, giving him plenty of time to back away, if that’s what he wanted. Will stayed still, and when Derek put a hand on his cheek, he leaned into it, closing his eyes.

 

“Will, you saved me,” Derek said. “Chad would have had you _kill_ me, but you fought him. I saw how hard you fought. It hurt you, but you did it anyway. And the dragon— _you_ , Will—we never heard a single death. Not one. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay. You’re a hero, despite what someone else tried to make you into. Even surviving this would have made you a hero; but you didn’t just survive. You _won_.”

 

Will was clenching his jaw and his eyes were screwed shut; his breathing came in harsh pants through his teeth.

 

Chris was on his other side in an instant. He yanked Will sideways so that the man was leaning on his chest. “I think maybe you need to cry.”

 

And Will let go, sobbing into Chris’ tunic, Derek’s hand clutched in his.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Now that he was safe and among friends, and always within sight of both of his men, Derek wanted more than anything to avoid the scene that was sure to greet his safe return to the castle. He was practical; he _knew_ that there was no way for him to do that. Instead, he did the next best thing: he was ready to use it to his advantage.

 

It was only two days’ ride back to Castletown, and messengers had ridden before them to alert the King and queen of the Good news. Of course, that meant that the King and Queen would be there to greet them, not Mama and Father. Not yet, not in front of the crowds. However, that would be the perfect time to bring his plan to action.

 

The only person he told was Jack, who was proving to be the steadiest and most noteworthy knight at his side, despite his practically ceremonial title. Jack nodded when Derek revealed what he wanted to do.

 

“It should work,” Jack said seriously. “There is certainly no legal reason I can think of that it wouldn’t. And I don’t have to ask you if this is what you really want.”

 

“Ch’yeah, no,” Derek scoffed. “If I could’ve, I’d have done this when I was sixteen.”

 

Jack nodded tightly. “Silver linings,” he offered, and it was somehow more than a platitude.

 

The welcome was just about as horrible as he expected, and Derek spent most of it making sure that Chris and Will were kept to the middle of the riders and not stared at. The King and Queen waited on a hastily-erected dais just inside the castle grounds to receive him with just the right amount of pomp and circumstance. Derek dismounted quickly and submitted to the official welcoming hug and kiss to the cheek. If his father clutched his shoulder just a little too tightly and his mama blinked away tears—well, that was just for him.

 

“I will tell the story of my rescue in good time,” Derek promised in his best public-speaking voice, raising his volume so that the nearest crowd members could catch it and pass his words back in a whispering flurry. “But I must give public recognition to my rescuers.” He turned around and waved once to indicate his knights, who all took the applause in good grace. “But most especially—“

 

He held his hand out to Chris, who dismounted obediently and ascended the dais. His eyebrows were expressive, an indulgent “I’m playing along until I can yell at you” expression on his face. “My finest knight, Christopher Chow of Saint Joseph.”

 

Chris beamed at the screaming cheers that greeted the pronouncement, the most vocal of which were coming from the knights. Then Derek winced, just a moment, whispering “ _please don’t kill me”_ under his breath before making his next pronouncement. “And, even more heroically, a fellow captive who risked his life to free me and was cruelly injured in the process. William of Poindexter.”

 

He knew Will wasn’t going to be happy, but he had to do this in front of everyone, now, while he had the ear of the whole kingdom and it couldn’t be taken away from him. As Will came to his side, Derek slid an arm around him and angled himself so he was blocking will from the rabble’s view, just a little. Just out of sight of the crowd, Will pressed his face briefly into Derek’s neck. “You better not be doing something stupid,” he murmured into Derek’s skin, and Derek grinned.

 

“In honor of their incredible bravery and sacrifice—and my _deep regard_ for them—“ Derek grinned harder when he heard Chris make a noise that was almost a groan, “I extend my right as regent to offer them land and title. In fact, I offer them equal land and title—both will be granted the Duchy of Sam’s Well, directly adjoining Castletown, to split or to share as they see fit.”

 

The crowd cheered, the Queen gasped, and the King’s eyebrows furrowed in the same way that Chris’ did when Will out-maneuvered him in chess. But Derek’s announcement was too public to decry, and the magnitude of the heroism too large to argue with. Derek had made an announcement that would be treated as law. 

 

“If you’ll excuse me, I would like to return to my chambers to quickly clean up, and then I will attend Your Highnesses and tell you all that befell me,” Derek said with a deep bow. He didn’t wait for an answer, striding off, his knights in his wake.

 

* * *

 

 

He cleaned up, but not quickly—his mind and body were a little bit more occupied as soon as he hit the bathing chambers below the castle. As he had suspected, both Will and Chris had followed him, both to yell and to take turns kissing him hard against walls and the edges of the pool.

 

“What did you _do?”_ Chris demanded, hurrying out of his tunics and unzipping his boots. Derek had already fallen twice while divesting himself of his own clothes, but now was gloriously, happily naked. Will was already much the same way, and was charging into the water after Derek.

 

“Didn’t you hear?” Derek asked cheekily. “Made you a Duke. Will too. You got land and everything. Landed nobility—that’s pretty good, huh?”

 

The banter was cut off momentarily as Will pinned him against the stone walls of the pool and kissed him so hard that their teeth clacked. Rather than putting Will off, it caused him to press himself even more firmly against Derek’s body, warm and hard and willing. “Not just that,” Will growled, breaking for breath only moving far enough away to give him room to speak. “You _married_ us.”

 

Derek smiled through the sting of his lips. “I did no such thing. You and Chris could easily split the land right down the middle.”

 

Chris’ eyes widened, big and brown and round. “But if we don’t. They’re _ours_. And we’re partners.”

 

Will turned to look at him. “It’s no church marriage, but yeah, owning land together for seven years is pretty much indissoluble. Probably lasts longer than a church marriage.”

 

Chris whooped and jumped into the pool with a splash. He surged over to join Will and Derek, kissing both their faces in turn.

 

“So you have seven years to figure out if you wanna do that. And I have seven years to figure out if I can use joint land ownership as an excuse to marry you both,” Derek told them, then groaned. “Ah, man, this means I have to spend even more time on the Judiciary Council.”

 

“And you couldn’t have told us this was your plan before dragging us up in front of everyone?” Chris asked, flicking Derek on the temple.

 

Derek shrugged. “I didn’t have a lot of time. But really—would you wanted to have this turn out any other way? I want both of you, badly, and I’m going to use any power on earth I have to cement your place in the world. That way, when it comes time for you to choose, maybe you’ll choose me.”

 

Will snorted, and Derek watched him snake his hands around Chris’ hip, sandwiching Derek between them. Derek gasped, unprepared for how _good_ Will’s cock against his, Chris’ against his back, felt underwater.

 

Will wasn’t content to get them off just yet, though. He leaned forward, murmuring in Derek’s ear.

 

“We’ll _always_ choose you.”

 

“And we’ll always come for you,” Chris added, and Derek didn’t even care about the double entendre right now. He had everything in the whole world—the men who loved him, and a chance, a real chance, of a future with them at his side.

 

THE END


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